


So, You're a Fucking Virgin

by kimstheworst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Episode: s09e08 Rock and a Hard Place, Episode: s09e09 Holy Terror, Ezekiel | Gadreel Possessing Sam Winchester, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Mark of Cain, Rock and a Hard Place AU, Virginity, s9 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimstheworst/pseuds/kimstheworst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re a hunter running with the Winchesters who happens to be a virgin.  You so don’t want that become a thing, so, of course, it becomes a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me. It's going to be a journey.

Jody Mills was tough as nails and you respected the shit out of her. So, when you and the boys got a call from the sheriff, you knew there must have been some serious shit going down.

You and the boys packed up and headed north to Sioux Falls, a place you hadn't seen much of since Bobby had passed. Meeting Jody outside the Sheriff’s Department, she greeted you all with big hugs. She marvelled over your new haircut and gave Sam crap over his lack of one.

Then it was down to business. Apparently, a whole slew of people had gone missing from a neighboring town. 4 to be exact. And the last one, someone saw the perp lift a fucking SUV to get to the vic. So, eschewing the idea that the perp was on bath salts, this definitely fell into your territory.

The only connection between the missing people was that they were all members of the same church. So, off to Good Faith Church you went to “get your church on” as Dean so succinctly put it.

  
You posed as prospective congregants. As you were given the ten cent tour of Good Faith Sam did the usual line of questioning like “oh we heard some people had gone missing.” Totally not suspicious at all. Not a weird thing to ask. Bonnie, your tour leader, tried to assuage your supposed fear by assuring you that the church was more secure than ever.

  
Dean dug deeper. “What a relief. You must have been close to them?”

  
Bonnie covered for her pathetic attempt at seeming to care for the missing persons by saying “Well, we do share the A.P.U. bond.”  
You jumped on the lead. “A.P.U?”

“Our chastity group…”Abstinence Purifies Us” Bonnie answered.

_Oh boy. Some of those fucking people._ you thought.

“Could we sit on the group?” Sam asked.

“I’m sorry it’s only for members.” she contended.

“Then count us in.” Sam assured her.

“Well. I'll be a squirrel in a skirt. I'll be back in a jiff with the papers.” Thinking she had bagged another three for the god crew she leapt up from her desk.

“Squirrel in a skirt. What the fuck?” you mumbled to Sam and Dean after Bonnie had cleared the room.

“So, with the virgins, what are we thinking? Dragons?” Dean guessed out loud.

“What about virgins makes you think dragons? I thought dragons were about gold. Smaug’s all about gold.” you asked.

“Smaug’s not real.” Dean retorted.

“Dragons are real, apparently.” you countered.

Sam explained “Dragons abduct virgins.”

_Oh fuck._ you began to panic, internally.

  
You’d been running with the Brothers Winchester for a bit, but you were hardly a veteran to their antics. You guys knew quite a bit about each other, but you each still held your secrets. There were still surprises. Like the fact that Dean had read every single Kurt Vonnegut book. Or that Sam, who had spent hundreds of years experiencing the worst Hell had to offer, was deathly afraid of clowns.

Then there was your little secret. You’d never really meant it to be a secret, but sometimes things just don’t get said. And they keep not getting said. And then pretty soon, there’s a fundamental fact, the people closest to you just don’t know.

Bonnie returned with your paperwork handing the three of you clipboards.

Reading, you found that the paperwork basically, consisted of a purity pledge. Welp, that’d be an easy one for you.

  
“Purity Pledge?” Sam questioned.

“It’s a commitment to your virginity.” Churchy McChurchwoman answered.

“I don’t think we can really un-ring that bell.You know what I mean? Eh. Eh. Eh.” Dean elbowed you and smiled over at you trying to loop you into his derision. You half smiled and nodded along.

Bonnie was taken aback as she responded with something about asking god for forgiveness, making a new vow of chastity and becoming a born again virgin. Jesus Christ, the church must really have needed some new blood.  
The proceedings concluded with Bonnie stating “Congratulations Sam, Dean and _____. You are all virgins.”

  
_Oh god. This is the worst._ you thought.


	2. Chapter 2

You were wrong.

This was the actual worst.

Sitting in a Sunday school room of a church with about 10 virgins, Sam and Dean as they all talked about their commitment to faith and struggles with maintaining their purity.  

_Ho-lee shit.  Where the fuck is that goddamn dragon when you need him?  Kill me now._

You had just finished listening to about five minutes of Tammy’s new verse entitled “Sex is a Racket and God’s Ball is in Your Court” when the leader, Suzy, thankfully called a to-be-continued on it and instead focused her attention towards you newcomers.

“Sam, what brought you here to reclaim your virginity?” she asked.

Sam cleared his throat and flipped his hair.  You had learned that this was an obvious sign of his wavering attention, and acted as a play to give himself a second to get back to the conversation at hand.  

“Well, I guess because every woman I’ve ever had, ummm, relations with...it hasn’t ended well.  At all.” Sam offered.

“He ain’t lying.” Dean interjected, smiling over at you knowingly.

“Thank you for being here, Sam.  Stay strong.  Stay pure.” Suzy consoled.  “And what about you, Dean?  What set you on the path away from sin?”

It took every fiber of your being not to laugh at that.

“Uh, hard to say, exactly. Yeah. Sex has always felt -- I don't know -- good, you know? I mean, really, really good. Uh...But, uh... Sometimes, it just makes you feel bad, you know? You're drunk. You shack up.”  Dean smiled “Then, it's the whole morning thing. You know, "Hey, that was fun." And then, "adios," you know? Always the ‘adios.’  But, you know, when you get down to it, what's the big deal, right? I mean, sure, there's the touching and the feeling all of each other, my hands everywhere…”

Holy fucking hell.  Dean was describing mind blowing sex to a room full of virgins. What the hell was he thinking?  And goddammit, it was kind of...hot?  Dammit, it was really hot. You looked up at him from where your hand was firmly planted across your face in embarrassment, shooting him a look of death, urging him to wrap it up.

“But the whole thing was just a little too, uh...sticky. So, uh, I got my "V" card back. The end.” he finished, finally slapping his leg for emphasis.  

You looked around the room at the other women.  Shower heads around town would definitely be getting a workout that night.

Suzy turned her attention towards you.  Oh god.  It was your turn.  

“____, you’re up.”

“Ummm… what would you like to know?”

“Same as Sam and Dean. Why have you chosen purity over the wicked ways of the body?”

“Well, Suzy.  I don’t really know if I have…” you started a little too honestly “I mean I didn’t choose this.”

“Hmmm...yes.  It chose you.  You heard God calling to you to repent your horrible dirty disgusting ways.”  

“Yeah, sure.”

“Tell us more.”

You put up your hands at a slight loss and huffed like a put upon teenager.

“I...ok...so I’m going through a little bit of a dry spell anyways, if I’m going to be honest here.  And it’s...frustrating.  Very sexually frustrating.  To have to always think about this thing that I’m not getting.  That I can’t possibly have.  And it’s not like it’s intrusive.  Or it;s really disrupting my life.  But it’s alway just like there reminding me that I’m not up to grade.”

“You’ve made the right decision, re-committing yourself to Christ’s love.  He will absolve you from those sinful thoughts of the body so you don’t have to worry about making the grade. He will take that option off the board so you don’t even have to think about it.  At least until marriage, that is.”

Sam and Dean side eyed you, suspicious, both on the cusp of an answer to a riddle that had previously never even occurred to them.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Later, at the motel, you poured over everything the internet had to offer about dragons.  Sam sat opposite you perusing blueprints of local places where the dragon could have possibly taken the victims.  Dean sat perched on the end of one of the beds, pretending to read a book.  He and Sam looked at each other, having a silent argument over which of them would start the conversation with you.

Sam lost.

“ummm..._____.  that dry spell you were talking about earlier.  How long exactly has it been?”

You looked up from your computer.

“Guys, I was just acting.” you lied and then trying to change the subject asked “Do dragons really breathe fire?”

“No.” Sam answered.

Dean piped up. “Let’s, just for a second, pretend you weren’t acting. Just.  How long?”  

You took a deep breath.  Looking away from him. Staring as hard as you could at your computer.  Staring anywhere, but at Dean Winchester.

“26 years.” you confessed.

Dean paused, not saying anything, doing a quick, incredibly easy calculation in his head.

“Oh my god.” Sam announced. Already meeting the inevitable conclusion.

“You’re 26.” Dean said lamely.

“Yes, I know.” you said.

Dean’s eyes darted around the room.  He started picking up your things and shoving them in your duffel.

“What are you doing?”

Dean grabbed your arm. “What the hell?” you heard Sam yell as Dean dragged you out the door.

“Dean, where are we going?” you asked.

“I’m taking you to the bus station and you’re getting as far away from here as possible.”

By the car now, you managed to wrestle your arm from Dean’s grip.

“Dean, stop.  I can help.” you pleaded.

“____, you are not getting killed because you’re a fucking virgin.  You’re a liability.”

“I could be bait!” you offered, really grasping at straws now.

“You’re going home.”

And with that Dean shoved you into the car and sent you packing.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Sorry”  said the text from Sam that you got just as you boarded the Greyhound back to Kansas. You didn’t even bother texting him back.

6 smelly bus hours later, you were slamming your shit down on the map table at the bunker half hoping it shattered the fucking thing.   You continued to handle the situation with the utmost maturity, kicking over a couple chairs, before collapsing onto the floor and sparing a few tears for your hymenated state which had, once again, ruined fucking everything.

Why was a thin membrane of tissue half covering your vagina so fucking important?  Why did that always seem to get in the way?  But, of course, the truth resists simplicity and it was all much more complicated than that.

You were on your way down to the dungeon to make sure Crowley was still securely imprisoned when you heard him yell through the walls “Yep, still here, luv!”  You rolled your eyes, but still went down to see him.  

“Gal Friday.  But no Moose and Squirrel?  Why is that?” he said.

“I’m not in the mood.” you turned to leave.

“Then why did you even come down here, if you didn’t fancy a chat?  Did Freddy and Shaggy send Velma home? Oh. Was it your little problem? I swear you humans put way too much stock in whether you’re getting some or not.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who sold his soul for an extra three inches.”

“To round it up to ten, darling.  I can be a bit OCD sometimes.”

“Why do I even come down here?”

“Scintillating conversation.  You know, I could take care of that” he gestured toward your nethers (ew) “for you, if you just took these chains off.  Or better yet, leave them on. ”

“As always, you are zero help.”  you turned to leave.

“No, of course.  You’re saving yourself for Dean.”

That stopped you dead in your tracks.  Was it so obvious?

“I’m not a girl scout.  I’m not saving myself for anybody.”

“Even girl scouts lose it at 15, ____!” he yelled after you as you hightailed it out of there leaving him in the dark.   

Dammit, why do evil monsters have to be right?

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean Winchester slowly steered the Impala into the garage of the Men of Letters bunker, pulled into a space and cut the engine.

“What are we gonna do about ____?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know if there is anything to do, Dean.  I mean it’s not like we can go tell her to get laid or get out, you know?”

“But how is it even possible that she’s never had sex?  I mean, she dresses...like she dresses. And it’s _____.  You know how she is.  She’s the dirtiest person we’ve ever met.  I mean, the things that come out of her mouth.

“Maybe she’s compensating or maybe that’s just how she is.”

“Do you think she’s like saving herself? She doesn’t seem the type.”

“I don’t know, man.”

“She’s not gay, I don’t think, I mean Charlie and her have been in the same room and nothing happened.”

“Real life. Porn” Sam gestured to either side with his hand differentiating the two.

“Dude, I banged an actual porn star this week.  There is no difference, anymore.”

“This is probably a conversation we need to actually have with her.”

“I did not sign up for this.”

Sam’s eyes lit up blue and his entire demeanor changed. Zeke was in the house.

“And she didn’t sign up for one of you secretly being an angel.”

“Why do you have an opinion on this?!”

“Sending her away like that was a dick move, man.” Zeke shot Dean a bitchface utilizing everything he’d learned from watching Sam do it over the past couple months.

_____________________________________________

“Y/N, we’re back!” Sam yelled from the top of the stairs.

“Hey.” you said from the library where you were trying your darndest to crack anything about the Metatron debacle.

Sam silently motioned for Dean to go talk to you while he went to go put his stuff down in his room.

“How’s it going?” Dean ventured, setting his bag down by the library doorway.

“Did you remember my sweater?” you asked, not looking up at him. “I, well,  really, you forgot to shove my sweater in my duffle, when you threw me out. Did you remember it?  I texted Sam.”

“Yeah, he remembered it.”

“Good” you said.  Still not looking up at him.

“We gonna talk about this?”

“Honestly? Dean?” You met his gaze.  “I’d rather not.”

He sat down on the table next to where you were reading.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’m sorry it never occurred to me that it’s your concern what’s going on between my legs.”

“This week what’s going on between your legs became a liability.”

You started gathering up your books haphazardly and headed for the hallway to your room.

“Ok.  You want a calendar of my cycle?” You headed for the hallway to your room.  Dean followed.  “Want to know what days are my heavy ones?  Should I get out the speculum?”

“Oh my god.” Dean recoiled in disgust.

You reeled around on him. “That’s basically what you’re asking me.”

“I’m just asking if the next time, something about you turns out to be a monster magnet, you tell us!”

Arriving at your room, you set your books down on the desk.

“Dean, I didn’t know about fucking dragons.”

“It’s not...you didn’t trust us to know that about you.  You.  Didn’t trust us.” he chastised from your doorway.

“Because it’s super fucking embarrassing.  For example, ok.  At my last physical I had to spell it out to the nurse that I was extremely sexually inactive and then do you know what she did, Dean?  She fucking laughed at me.  A medical professional laughed at me.” you started to tear up a bit at the memory “And the worst part about it, Dean.  I want to have sex.  I want it so fucking bad.  I want to have gross, kinky, what the fuck, sexy fucking sex, dammit.”

You sat on the edge of your bed.  Head in your hands.

“Then how come you never have?  I just don’t get it.”

“Sometimes things don’t happen and they keep not happening.”

“So, why don’t you just go out and sleep with someone?  You’re a girl.  Shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Jesus fucking christ, Dean.  If it bothers you so fucking much, why don’t you fucking do something about it?”

“Well, maybe I will!”

“What?”

“I’ll totally have the sex with you!” Dean blurted out.  You hadn’t seen his eyes this filled with manic fear since he caught the ghost sickness.  

“Okay, well, I have weapons to polish.  From killing monsters. Not like polishing my weapon like, you know.  Okay, bye.” Dean rambled, backing out of your room, stumbling over nine types of furniture along the way.  “Door closed? You probably want it closed.  I’ll close it.”  

Dean left you alone in your room to overanalyze every inch of what just happened.

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean stumbled into the library,  eyes wild.  He found Sam studying up on the next MOW.

“You two make up?” Sam asked not looking up.

“Mmmhmmm, yep.” Dean said, his voice an octave too high.

“Figure out what we’re gonna do/if there’s anything we can do?”

“Yep.  What do you have on that triple locked room murder?” Dean said quickly changing the topic.  That’s when Sam looked up to meet Dean’s eyes.

“What?” Dean said, his face the definition of freaking out.

Sam pulled one of his patented bitch faces.

“Dean, you didn’t.”

Dean jumped up.

“I didn’t do anything, ok...yet.”

“Dean, you can’t, it’s ____.”

“Well, why not? What could go wrong?”

“Ummm...I don’t know. EVERYTHING.  And what ever happened to your virgin aversion?”

“Like, you said, Sammy, it’s ______.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shortest chapters to ever short the short


	7. Chapter 7

You woke to a world in which Dean Winchester wanted to sleep with you. Or, at least, was willing to sleep with you. He didn't exactly say he wanted to sleep with you, did he? Willing and wanting were definitely two different things. This much you had decided during your largely sleepless night.

Other major topics of consternation included:

-Would he want to have sex immediately?

-What kind of sex would occur?

-Would there be cuddling afterwards or would it just be wham, bam, thank you ma’am, the whole thing over in five minutes?

-What expectations does he have in terms of grooming?

-Would it be weird afterwards? (dumb question seeing as how it was already weird)

-Does this mean he likes you?

-How would you feel about that if he did?

 

We were definitely through the looking glass here, people.

 

* * *

 

 

“Got a second?” you said, popping your head into the kitchen, where Dean sat eating his breakfast.

“For….?” he questioned, a mouth full of food.

“I was wondering if we could talk?”

“About…?”

“Your P; my Va-G.”

Dean choked on his food.  You rushed over to him.

“Whoa. Arms up. Arms up.” you hit him on the back as he took a drink of water.

“Ps and Va-Gs?” he said looking up at you with raised eyebrows.

“Mmmmyep.” you said sitting down. “About last night.”

“About last night.” he repeated after you.

“Were you serious? Do you want to do this for me...I mean..with me...because you don’t have to.  I’m not going to hold you to something you said if it was just to make me feel better, you know.  Don’t do this just because of your hero complex.”

“Hey” Dean grabbed your hand from across the table “I want this, ok?” he said cracking a smile.

“Okay” you said gulping.  “Okay” you said nodding more confidently.  “Well in the interest of that I thought it might be beneficial to discuss, what we both want from the...um...encounter.”

 

You produced a thick sheaf of paper from seemingly nowhere and thunked it down on the table.

 

“What’s that?” Dean eyed the pile of paper with suspicion.

“I made a list”

“You made an encyclopedia”

“I just wanted to remember everything”

“Ok.  So, the list:

 

  1. Condoms. Duh, safe sex.

  2. No pain if possible- contrary to popular belief it does not have to hurt your first time. That happens because the woman is not properly aroused

  3. Cuddling afterwards

  4. No calling you “daddy”.  I’m sorry, at least for me that shit’s messed up.




 

“Agreed” said Dean.

 

     "5" you continued "I’m okay with the lights being on, but reserve the right to turn them off if I choose."

   

“Out of curiosity, how many more items do you have on this list?”

 

You flipped through all the pages, counting.

“Ummm...several”

 

“Really taking the casual out of casual sex here, ______”

“I just want to make sure we both have a fun time” you said, almost pleading.

“Yeah,  this is really fun”

“What about you?  You like pie.  I could dress up as, like, a sexy pie. She’s my cherry pie”  you started singing incredibly off key.

“I like pie. I dont want to fuck a pie.” Dean responded.

“Okay. Okay, then.  Well,  what if I dress up like one of your anime girls? ‘Oh senpai has noticed me.’ and whatnot?”

“Why not tentacle porn?” Dean said joking.

Your face turned beet red. 

“Item 327” you said, flopping, your pile of papers towards him.

 

Dean flipped through them and sure enough, Item 327: “No tentacle porn inspired sex”.   Wow, you really had been thinking about this.    

 

 

* * *

 

Sam was sitting in the library doing research as per usual, when Dean unceremoniously slammed what could be referred to as _____’s manifesto down on the table in front of him.

 

“What’s this?”  Sam said, beginning to flip through the pages. “172: No Anal?”  Sam asked.

“Oh this?  This is ____’s sex contract.” Dean paced the room.

“It took her til 127 to get to ‘No Anal’?” Sam read out loud.

“This is her idea of casual sex.” he began to recite the list to Sam “#37: permission to keep my bra on if my boobs aren’t in their best aesthetic shape on the day...parentheses trust me sometimes they look much better in the bra than out. close parentheses  #89: if music is present it shall either be Bolero or Fleetwood Mac. Absolutely no Marvin Gaye unless it is sung live” What does that even mean? Do I have to get Marvin gaye?  I thought taking someones virginity was supposed to be sexy fun. This is not fun. “

“Dean, she's not exactly young. Sure she’s probably built it up in her mind but she’s also realistic and she’s had a lot of time to think about this and all the things that can go wrong. Have you maybe thought she's a little bit scared and this is how she’s trying to protect herself?   And look at what she’s asking you.  It’s actually not that unreasonable.”  Sam explained.

“But it’s so formal” Dean almost whined.

“She’s never had sex before maybe the only way she knows how to communicate what she wants is with a dissertation.   She’s gone 26 years with nothing. To go from nothing to everything so fast can be a little daunting, I’m sure.”

“She doesn't trust me to take care of her.”

“She doesn't know what she’s doing. You need to help her. Listen, if you don’t want to have sex with her don’t have sex with her.  Just please never show me your kink lists again.”

 

* * *

 

Sam was right,  if this is what you needed to feel comfortable having sex with him, Dean had to respect that. But did Dean really want to have sex with you?  The answer to that was easy.  Yes, absolutely.  If it were under normal circumstances he would definitely want to have sex with you.  Hell, he wanted to have sex with you from the time you first referenced Star Trek during a hunt.  But that was before he knew.  Were there too many strings now?  If he still wanted to have sex with you after the pile of crazy that was this list and he actually had it what would that mean?  

  
Much to his chagrin, to get to the bottom of this Dean would have to do what he hated the most:  Talk to you about it.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

You had just finished folding your laundry when you heard a knock at your door.

 “Yes?” you greeted your as yet undetermined visitor.

 Dean popped his head in.

 

“Hey.” he said.

“Hey” you said back.

“So, this-”  he placed your sex list on your desk.

“Did you finish reading it?” you asked, shoving a few shirts in a drawer.

 

“Yes, I finished reading it.  Uh, You know a lot this usually goes unspoken.”

“Good sex is about communication.”

“______, this isn’t communication.  This is a filibuster.”

“I guess I did go a little crazy on the word count, Ok.  I’m sorry that you’re bearing the brunt of 26 years of sexual frustration.  That’s not what I wanted. It’s just…” you sighed flopping down on your bed, fingering the edge of a half folded shirt in your hands. “I just...I don’t want my first time to be in a baseball dugout with the words ‘Surf Nazis’ graffiti-ed over my head.”

“You watch ‘Fast Times’ way too much.  _____, Do I look like Damone to you?” Dean said pushing himself off from your desk.

“The baseball thing was the older guy from the pizza joint.  Damone was the one in the poolhouse who prematurely ejaculated and still somehow got Stacy pregnant.”

“God, Fast Times has a lot of sex nightmares in it.” Dean said sitting down next to you.

“That it does.” you agreed.

 

“So, that over there, that’s what you need from me?” Dean asked.

“ A little bit, yeah?” you responded.

“Okay, then.  Let’s try it your way.”

“Really?” 

“If that’s what you need, then yes, really.”

“And what do you need from me, Dean?”

“I need you to trust me, okay? Please.”

 

You thought about it for a second searching his eyes then said “Okay, I trust you.”

 

“Ok, so I’m going to kiss your right now.” Dean said

“What? like right now?” you receded from Dean and infinitesimal amount.

“Yeah.” he said leaning toward you.

“I thought we were doing the list.”

“We’re not gonna fuck, right now. I’m just going to kiss you, ok?  Because if we can’t do that.  We haven't got a chance at anything else.”

“Hookers don’t kiss” you argued.

“You have to stop comparing yourself to prostitutes.” he pleaded.

 

Dean’s hands went to your waist and you went stiff as a board.

 

“Ok. so...your hands are on my waist.”

“Mhmm” he agreed.

“And now one is on my face”

“You don’t have to narrate” he said getting even closer.

“Ok” you said, your voice getting really high for some reason.  Was your voice normally this high?  What was your voice supposed to sound like?  Oh god.  You had forgotten how to human.

Dean tilted his head into yours and you squealed uncomfortably. He stopped.

“What?” he asked.

“No, i’m fine.  Keep going” you said, eyes clenched shut.

His hand slid up your back and you let out a Tina Belcher moan.

“_____, look at me, look at me.”

You pried your eyes open to meet Dean’s.  He was oh so very close and even though you wanted this so bad, you were so not ready.

“You’re safe, ok?  nothing bad is going to happen.  We’re just going to kiss and I promise you, it is going to be awesome.”

 

You nodded.

“_____, you with me?”

“Yes...awesome, yes…..rock my world.”

“Ok” he said laughing.  

 The mood in the room suddenly took on a serious tone as his hands returned to your face and he bit his lower lip in that super sexy way he always seem to do when he really wanted something.  Suddenly, you knew what to do.  Suddenly, you were so ready. You slid your hands up his chest and under the collar of his shirt, feeling his bare skin beneath your palms.  Your hands didn’t stop to rest; they made their way to the back of his head, tangling themselves in the short hair on the back of his head and drawing him the rest of the way to your lips.

 Your lips met sweetly and gently, Dean’s eyes closed, squinted tight as if to lock the rest of the world out for the moment.

You knew this about Dean’s eyes because for some reason you kept yours open.  After about a second Dean dropped his head down away from you.

 

“______, Close your eyes.  You gotta close your eyes.  It’s creepy if you don’t close your eyes.”

_How did he know?!_

“Sorry” you apologized, closing yours.

 

He pulled your legs over into his lap so it looked as if you were side saddling a Mall Santa.  

“Do I have to be in your lap?  This feels demeaning. I’m not a child.  Hold on, just”  you flipped around so you were straddling him. “Better” you nodded.  “Subverting gender normative power dynamics” you whispered in his ear, nodding.

“Nerd” he smiled, rolling his eyes.

 

Your lips met again.  Your kisses growing deeper.  The only sound in the room, sharp intakes of breath for the nanoseconds your mouths separated.

Dean’s hands slipped under the back of shirt, feeling up to your bra strap, but not working to take it off.

 

Dean's hands felt their way back down to your butt and you giggled into the kiss.  Dean smiled in turn.

Your hands left his face to push the flannel off his shoulders.  

 

“Whoa, there kitty” Dean said.

“I’m just taking your shirt off.  We’re not having sex.” you reaffirmed.

“Okay, but I’m gonna need some quality time with myself after this.”

 

Dean pulled his t shirt off over his head and sent it sailing across the room.

 

And then you were full on staring at his torso, not saying anything.  Oh god, Dean was one good looking man.  He was like staring into the sun.  Like your eyes would burn out if you stared too long.  But you still couldn't look away.

 

“_____, kind of making me feel self conscious here.”

“Sorry” you said snapping out of your ab filled reverie “This is just the first time I’ve really gotten to look at you without a shirt on.”

“You’ve seen me without a shirt.”

“Usually I have to look away and pretend I don’t like what I see.” you confessed.

 Your lips returned to his as your hands traveled up his chest and rested on his face.

Then you were pushing him backwards, down onto the bed, you hovering over him,  the curtain of your hair falling down around you two to wrap yourselves in your own little world.

One of your hands, the one you weren't using to balance (obviously), cupped Dean’s face. He nuzzled into it, kissing your palm.  

He raised a hand and lovingly tucked a wayward piece of hair behind your ear, before just holding your face.

“I thought you were supposed to be a virgin.  How are you such a good kisser?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll have you know, Mr. Winchester”  you said softly  “I have kissed over one other person.”  you half joked.

 

The sad truth was it was exactly one other person.  And it hadn't been great. The guy then had come over to where  you sat in a none too spacious  armchair and  somehow imposed himself into the chair so you were suddenly sitting on his lap.  True you had been talking all  night. It was a house party. So this wasn't totally unexpected. But when he had kept putting his face closer to yours and just staring at you. Well, It seemed like you didn't have much of a choice.  And at an age older than you would have liked, you thought "might as well happen now."  Who cared if this situation (with her best friend sat across the room the only other person still there, head buried in a people magazine, attempting and failin to not laugh her ass off) was less than ideal and if this kiss were terrible? There would be many other kisses, wouldn't there?  but there weren't. There hadn't been. Ever.  It had seemed like the beginning, but it was just another step in a long string of nothing.

Which brought you to this something.  To this moment with Dean. Hovering over him. Things on your terms. Suffice to say: this something was 5000 times better. 

You made out like that for a while.  You over Dean.  Then Dean over you, brushing the hair away from your face as he tenderly kissed you. Dean’s hands cupping your bum, whenever you were on top.  You holding Dean’s hands over his head every now and then.   Until you finally just collapsed next to him cuddling into his side, still kissing every now and then.  Talking about whatever.  Everything.  Nothing.  You mumbling about Angel Tablet stuff that most assuredly sailed straight over his head as he was unfamiliar with linguistics as a discipline.

  
And as if it even needed to be said, Dean was right.  This was awesome.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning you woke up happy.  Happier than you had been in a long time.  For a few seconds you couldn’t quite remember the source of this happiness, but then it all came crashing back to you.  

You kissed Dean Winchester.

A lot.

And it was good.

This thought carried you into the kitchen where Sam worried over a cup of coffee and newspaper.  You couldn’t stop yourself. As you poured yourself a cup, you were positively beaming.

“What are you so smiley about? Are you...uh...cleared for dragon slaying?”

“Why Sam Winchester” you smiled taking a seat across from him “what a clever way to inquire as to whether your brother and I engaged in some pelvic pinochle.”

“That’s not a no.” Sam raised an eyebrow at you.

You got up taking your coffee with you.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but mine’s still intact.”

“Ew. Gross.”

“I did, however, kiss all up on your brother’s face.” you announced as you moonwalked out of the room.

A flash of blue light shone out Sam’s eyes and his posture went rigid.

“You go, girl” Zeke congratulated you, then powered down, releasing Sam’s consciousness from his hold.

Catching wind of the comment you yelled back to Sam “Thank you, Sammy!”

“Huh?” Sam uttered, rubbing the back of his head in confusion.

* * *

 

You were going on your eighth hour in the library poring over what could be referred to as a “Cuneiform Dictionary”,but was in reality just a bunch of ancient parchment covered in what you hoped would serve as your cuneiform Rosetta Stone, when Dean sauntered in twirling his car keys.

“Going on a supply run.  Wanna come with?” he asked.

“Yesssss” you replied, racing Dean for the door.

 

Dean drove you two to a nearby drug store.

 

“So, what are we getting?” you asked upon entering the fluorescent lit chain store.

Dean pulled a list from his pocket.

“Oh, the usual first aid stuff: gauze, bandages, sutures, and picking up a painkiller prescription for one Mr. Stanley Shunpike.”

“Oh that’s so nice of you, picking up old Stanley’s pills for him.” you jested.

The pills weren't really recreational.  Nay, they were incredibly functional.  You guys weren’t exactly Spring Chickens and Aleve didn’t cut it when it came to hunting injuries.

You gathered the med supplies, while Dean handled Mr. Shunpike’s prescription.  Wandering the store, you happened upon one particular aisle.  The “Family Planning” aisle.  AKA: Condomtown.

Man, there were a lot of options.  Ultra thin, Magnum, Ribbed for her pleasure...Glow in the Dark.  It boggled your mind that soon these things would be something with which you had to concern yourself.  Dean crept up on you as you read the back of a pack of durex.

“See anything you like?” he asked, making you startle for a moment.

You quickly gathered yourself enough to joke “This one comes with a decoder ring!”  as you grabbed a box of prophylactics packaged with a vibrating ring.

“I usually go for these.” he said grabbing a box of non-descript Trojans.

“That’s so boring.”

“They work.”

“As far as you know.”

“Oh, do not even joke.” Dean begged.

“What do condoms even feel like?”  you asked.

Dean thought for a moment. “Tight” was his final answer.

“I saw this video once where someone filled up a regular condom with like five gallons of water and it didn’t pop and the argument with it was like if your boyfriend says condoms are too small it’s bullshit. Because like, who in the world has a 6 gallon dick?” you prattled out.

“I also saw a video once, that answered that exact question.”

You and Dean shared a smile as you wandered down the razor aisle.

Dean reached down to snag some new blades, “Damn, these things are always so expensive.”

“Whatever, it’s not even like it’s your money” you argued, though you were secretly hoping he’d ditch shaving altogether. You had the sneaking suspicion that one Mr. Dean Winchester would look even hotter with a beard.

“Touche” he said basketing the pack of blades.

 

There in the razor blade aisle, something potentially important dawned on you.

You leaned up to whisper in  Dean’s ear. “Okay, so like I’m super excited for the sex and all that, but like what do you me to do with my vagina?”

“Ummm...what?” he pulled back confused.

“What do you want me to dooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo...with my vagina?” you mumbled out the side of your mouth, then mouthed “big bush or bald” and mimed appropriately toward your crotch with your hands.

“You know _____, as long as it’s present; I’m good.” he waved you off.

“Okay, 10-4, Little Buddy.” you said shooting off fingerguns at him as you departed for the candy aisle to reap your sweet, sweet reward of half-priced Halloween candy.

 

* * *

 

You and Dean arrived back at the bunker.  You went off to squirrel away your candy stash in your nightstand while Dean bowlegged his way over to where Sam sat amid the usual strewn books in the library.

“That is one weird, nerdy little chick.”  Dean commented.

“She told me she made out with your face.” Sam smiled.

“That’s not inaccurate.” said Dean flopping into an arm chair.

“Yeah, well when you guys actually get around to christening the bunker, could you give me a head’s up so I can be anywhere but here?  I don’t want to find out how soundproof these walls are..”

“_____________!” Dean yelled over his shoulder toward the hall.

“What?!” you yelled back.

“When are we having sex?” Dean yelled a wry smirk stretching across his phase.   Sam rolled his eyes.

“When aren’t we having sex, am I right ladies?” you said entering the library.

“Sam wants to not be here when it happens.”

“Sammy, so considerate, planning your schedule around my hymen.” you said pinching Sam’s cheek.

“Oh my god, just leave a sock on the door, like normal people.” Sam said, picking up his laptop and retreating to his room.

 

“He does raise an interesting question, Dean, when are we gonna do it?” you asked.

“You want like a date and time?” he sipped on his beer.

“Why not? Give me some time to mentally prepare.  You. Me.  3 o’clock. My room?.”

“....are you gonna fight me or fuck me?” Dean replied.

“One penis enters.  Two people get off.” you said laughing.

“Should probably shoot for night time.  Less afternoon delight, more strangers in the night.” Dean says.

“You gonna take me dancing?”

“Nope.”

“How about tomorrow night?”

“Sounds fantastic.” you answered.

 

Actually, not fantastic.   It turns out the only thing worse than being a virgin is setting a date and time of when you will lose said virginity.  Because for the next 24+ hours all you could think of was everything that could go wrong and everything that you could do that would be wrong and what not being a virgin anymore would mean, if anything at all.  You were excited, sure, but the anxiety seemed to outweigh the joy.

 

Maybe you should look at some porn to just give yourself some ideas? you thought to yourself, pulling your tablet into your lap.

* * *

 

20 MINUTES LATER

 

Maybe you should NOT look at porn to give you ideas. Maybe those ideas, for you, were bad.  Like penises with the girth of a soup can?  Soup Can Penis. That’s not comfortable for anyone.

  
This might take some alcohol.  Or xanax.  Or some questionable combination of the two. 


	10. Chapter 10

**24 HOURS LATER**

 You decided to eschew any mind altering substances for your impending tryst as the whole point of this was to get your V Card swiped, yes, but also to have fun and be present. But who the fuck were you kidding?  You were nervous as hell.  You would be lucky if the fun level on this sucker was turned up to 3, nevermind the 11 you had hoped for.

Earlier that day, you had gone through your usual- breakfast, research, lunch, research, research...research...you know, your life’s calling.  Saving leftovers.  Reading things.  The family business.   Around dinner time you noticed Sam was nowhere to be found.

“I see Sam has already evacuated the premises.” you said meeting Dean in the kitchen where he already had the table set up with that night’s dinner.  Pasta and Dean’s homemade sauce.  Nothing like it.

“Yep, now we have the whole bunker to ourselves, well except, of course, for the King of Hell stashed in our dungeon.”  Dean gestured for you to sit.

“Our lives are weird.” you stated plainly.

Dean nodded in agreement.

You both tucked into your dinner plates and ate largely in silence, both acutely aware of what that night was supposed to bring.

 

Wiping up the last of the sauce on his plate with a piece of bread Dean finally said something.

“So, tonight’s the night.  How do you wanna do this?”

“Yeah. Ummm...how do we do this?  Do we do this in my room?  In your room?”

“The ole Your place or my place?” he joked.

“I mean we could do it in Sam’s bed.” you smiled.

“Sold!” joked Dean. “Why don’t you just come to my room, when you’re ready?”

 

You brought your plate to the sink and started to do the dishes until Dean came up behind you, arms reaching around you to still your working hands..  

“I’ll do this. You go get yourself together.” his hot breath ghosting along the back of your neck.

“Good idea.” you said snaking yourself around him and wiping the excess moisture from the washing up on your pants.

 

* * *

 

_Okay, so checklist_  you thought. _Went to the bathroom. Took a shower.  Shaved. Went to the bathroom again.  Fixed my hair. Brushed my teeth. Spotify set to Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors. All ready. Ready to go._

But your feet wouldn’t move you from your place in front of the mirror that hung on the back of your closet door.  

_Okay, let’s go now._  

Not moving.  

_Let’s do this.  We can do this._

No movement at all.

_Okay, you listen to me, Ms. ____________.  It has been far too long for you.  This is your chance.  Probably your one chance to do this with someone you care about and trust. And he is super fucking hot.  So get your panties out of your butt, because we have a massive wedgie, make sure you don’t have to fart and get your ass across that hall.  Because we’re worth it._

 

And with that you flung your door open and marched five feet across the hall to Dean’s room, took a deep breath and knocked on his door “Shave and a haircut” style.  

 

After your shower you had gone through about 12 costume changes before settling on some lingerie you had bought ages ago, which had obviously gone woefully underused, paired with what you had been wearing all day.   

 

Waiting for Dean to answer, you decided to try and drape yourself sexily against his doorframe.  Unfortunately, right in the middle of you situating yourself, he opened the door, causing you to topple straight forward into his chest, emitting a very ungraceful noise.

“How you doing?” Dean smiled.

“Oh, fine” you said, your voiced pitched maybe an octave above normal.

 

Dean stood you up and let you past him into his room.  Dean had cleaned his room and made his bed.  That’s the first thing you noticed.  The second was the presence of a hazardous amount of candles burning in various places around the room.  The third was the pile of rose petals strewn on Dean’s bed.  He probably murdered about 2 dozen flowers to achieve the effect.  It was super cute, the amount of effort Dean had gone through to make this special for you, as cheesy as his measures may have seemed. The fourth thing you noticed was that you noticed things in weird orders and maybe you should look into that at a later time.

 

“This is like a Prince video.  You got some doves stashed somewhere, too?”  you couldn't help, but bust his balls a little, even though you were genuinely touched.

“I was going for the opposite of a dingy baseball dugout.” Dean confessed.

“You have definitely achieved it.”

 

You both stood in silence across the room from each other.

“So...how do we do this?” you broke the silence.

“Well, normally I would have picked you up at a bar or rescued you from some great evil unknown and we would have stumbled in here, ripping each other’s clothes off and I’d be three fingers deep by now.”

“Mmm...graphic.”

“but….umm for now let’s settle for me crossing this room” he said narrating his actions “putting my hands on your face and kissing you, while you mess up the hair I spent way too much time trying to get just the perfect amount of ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck’ gorgeous.”  

“That is an excellent idea” you said, your hands slipping up to intertwine with his aforementioned hair.  Your lips met sweetly and gently turning more heated as his hands slipped down your body.  His head came to rest on your bum, where he felt the phone in your back pocket.

 

“You brought your phone?” Dean asked.

 

“Oh! [Music!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvVznAb9-Ss)  I brought music.” you interrupted, fumbling your phone out of your pocket.  You hit play and Fleetwood Mac’s “Second Hand News” started playing.

“You were serious?” Dean asked.

You sort of danced in place as the beat of the song bopped into the room.

“Please stop doing finger guns at my penis.” Dean asked.

You had in fact started doing finger guns in the general direction of Dean’s crotch.

“Sorry, yeah.” you apologized holstering your weapons.

“Get over here” he said yanking you towards him by the waistband of your jeans.  Your hands returned to his hair and his lips returned to yours.  You pushed him backwards onto the bed and you toppled down with him.   Dean began kissing down your neck, giving your now swollen lips a break.

 

“We should probably take off our clothes now, right?” you asked slightly out of breath.

“You are reading my mind.” he said slipping a tank top strap off your shoulder.

“Okay.  Can we blow out a few of these candles, first?  It feels a little exposed.” you requested.

“Sure.” Dean got up and began to blow out each of the what seemed like a hundred candles around the room. “You want all of them out or…?”  

“Yes, please?” you asked.  

 

You took the opportunity while Dean was putting out the tiny fires, to remove your socks from your feet, because those seemed like the least sexy things to remove during sex. A person nude except for their socks was one of the strangest and most off putting images you could conjure.  Like seeing a Muppets legs while they walk. Oh dear lord, you hoped Dean would take his socks off. Why hadn’t you put that on your list.   You turned your attention back to Dean just before he blew out the last candle. He was barefoot.  Oh, thank god you thought.   

 

The room, now shrouded in darkness, Dean returned to your side on the bed, but not before stubbing his toe on his nightstand.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yes.” he replied, reluctantly. “Can’t fucking see you now, but I’m fine.”

“Follow the sultry sound of my voice.” you said affecting a sing songy patois.

“There’s my girl” Dean said.

“That’s my boob.”   

“Yep.”

Dean pulled you towards him on the bed, intertwining his legs with yours.

“Now, I believe we were right about here” he said starting up the kisses on your neck once more.   One of his hands snaked up the back of your shirt to unclasp your bra, and that talented fuck, he got it done with one hand.   He was, however, having difficulty with the actual removal of your shirt, what with your side by side position on the bed.

“Hold on.” you said sitting up and tossing your shirt and bra across the room.  You then resumed making out with Dean, but this time with you on top.  You kissed along his jawline and to chest.

“You know I love this henley, but waffle knit against bare boobs is not all that comfortable.”

Dean let out a frustrated breath “You don’t have to make everything a clever joke, ________ just tell me what you want.”

“Are you like actually angry at me right now?” you asked.

“I’m not angry with you.” he said trying to wave you off.  You rolled off Dean.

“It sounds like you’re kind of angry at me.” you said defensively.

“Well now, I’m a little frustrated.  It feels like you don’t trust me to do this.” Dean said sitting up, tension rising in his voice.

“My tits are out in front of you, how much more trust do you need, Dean?”

“Are they? I couldn’t tell, it’s fucking pitch black in here.” he continued “You keep making little jokes and it kind of hurts, ok?  I put a lot of effort into this.”  Dean swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge, back to you.

“Dean, I know you did.  And It’s adorable, really.  That’s what I really thought when I came in the door.  And I appreciate it so much. And I’m sorry for the quips, but that’s who I am.  I’m new to this, okay? You know that.” you explained.  

 

“I thought bedroom you would be different.” Dean said quietly, almost under his breath.

 

Dean’s words hit you like a slap to the face.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint.” you replied wiping away a traitorous tear.

  
You gathered up your clothes, even the socks and rushed back to your room, slamming the door behind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be angry with me. It will happen. Just not yet.


	11. Chapter 11

_“I thought bedroom you would be different”_  

Dean’s words rang in your head.

“Fuck you, Dean Winchester.” you mumbled out loud to an audience of none as you paced your room.

Where the fuck does he get off?  What the fuck did he expect from you? This was exactly everything you didn’t want to happen.

Well, you would have to move out of the bunker now. That much was obvious. Except (haha) you fucking couldn't because you still had to translate the goddamn angel tablet and that’s not exactly a responsibility you could just drop. How had Cas so eloquently put it “You are a prophet of the Lord, always and forever until the day you cease to exist”?

Yeah.

Fuck.

* * *

The next day you were doing your usual tablet research in the library across from Sam when Dean sheepishly took a seat at the end of the table.

 “Morning” he mumbled under his breath.

 Sam nodded in his direction.  You did nothing.  Sam’s eyes darted between you and Dean suspicious over the lack of greeting.

 “You know” you started not looking up from your texts “I read somewhere that ancient definitions of the word ‘virgin’ say that it was merely a woman who was sexually independent.  You know sexually unattached. So she didn't need a partner and just belonged to herself and didn’t need anybody else's weak ass bullshit.”

 “That...ummm...sounds like a loose translation.” Dean had the audacity to joke.

 “I’m sensing some weird tension here.” Sam chimed in.

 “Nope. No tension at all, Sam.” you falsely reassured gathering your books and left for your room.

 Sam and Dean jumped a half foot out of their seats when you slammed your door. Super mature, but you didn’t really care at the moment.

 

“So, I take it things didn’t go to plan last night?” Sam ventured.

“Not exactly.” Dean said.

“I sat through Les Mis, because it’s the only thing in theaters right now, and it didn’t even happen?”

 “Come on, you love that cultured crap.”

 “It was three hours of singing.  There was one spoken line in that movie, Dean.  One.”

 

Dean rubbed a hand down his face. “It was awkward and weird and I thought it would be fun, but it wasn’t.  And she wouldn’t stop joking, Sam.”

“Yeah, it’s ______.  She’s jokey.  It’s a defense mechanism.  It’s who she is. It’s what she does.  Hell, it’s what you do.” Sam half yelled.

“I know.” Dean said almost ashamed.  “but I was hoping we might get passed that.  So, I might have said something.”

 

“Dean...what did you say?”

 

“I said.” he paused taking a deep breath “I thought you would be different….or ‘I thought bedroom you would be different’ or something like that.”

 

Sam picked up one of the lighter books and hit Dean upside the head.

“No. BAD.” he chastised as if Dean were a dog.

 

Dean’s hands went up defensively.  Sam hit him a couple more times.  

“Ow stop.” Dean cried.   “STOP.”

 

Sam set the book down.

 

“Did you at least try and apologize?” Sam asked.

“No.  She left and I just let her go.” Dean confessed, eyes downcast.

“My God, you are such an idiot” Sam breathed.  “You need to fix this.  You need to fix this, now.”  Sam ordered.

“I KNOW, ok?  I know.  But what do you want me to do?  Obviously, me and ______?  It just isn’t going to work.  She’s never going to let her walls down around me."

“Since when do you care if the women you sleep with let their walls down?” Sam wondered.

 “Sam, we both know _____’s not just another woman.”  confessed Dean.

 

“Yeah, I know I just wanted to hear you say it.” Sam smirked.

 “Bitch.” Dean said pushing Sam lightly.

 “Jerk.”  Sam pushed him back.  “Well, if you’re not gonna sleep with her you have to at least apologize and let her down easy.  Not sure how much good it will do, but it would probably be better than nothing.”

 “Yeah, I know.” Dean said.  

 

* * *

 

 

Dean had actually stayed up all night after you left, first chucking all the candles then retracing the route from his door to yours about fifty times, coming so close to knocking, but never actually doing it.   He had tried to think of something, anything to say to you to make it ok.  To let you down easy.  Because it was somehow apparent to him that you two would never work in the way he or, even, you wanted.  By morning he had come up with exactly nothing.  

So now, he had the time it took to get from the library to your door to figure it out.  To try and form the words.  

 

In the end, Dean did what he does best.  

He lied.

* * *

 

“Because I know." This was the finale of the Dean-letting-you-down-easy-special.  The beginning and middle of which amounting to nothing but white noise to you. "I know, okay? With that first one you fall hard and you fall fast.  And it would hurt you more if you fell and the other person wasn't there for you, didn't feel the same way. And I don’t think I do.  I wish I was the guy who could just sleep with you and that’s it.  Hell,  I usually am that guy.  But you’re my friend and I wouldn't want a guy to screw you over like that,  so I can’t let myself be that guy.”  

“Ok, yeah.  I get it you don’t like me, ok? Or you like the version of me that doesn't actually exist or some fucking bullshit like that” you said.

 “Were you even listening? That’s not it.”

 “That’s exactly it, Dean.  God, I wish I had just slept with some rando, because that devastation of being immediately shuffled off would be so much better than this.”

 “I’m sorry.” he tried.

 “Just go.” you ordered.

 “_____, come on.”

 Hot tears began to roll down your face.

“Dean, you have one second to get out of my room. I have guns and you know I know how to use them.”

  
And with that you were left all alone.


	12. Chapter 12

Things really sucked.  Because for one week, one glorious week, it seemed like Dean Winchester actually liked you.  Screw being able to read the word of God, and slam the gates of Hell and Heaven.   

That.  

THAT would have been the real miracle.   

But it wasn't real.  And the shitty thing was, you couldn’t even blame the guy.  He just wasn’t into you.  And you suppose he did the right thing, putting the brakes on it.  

But that didn’t stop it hurting like a motherfucker.

* * *

A few days later Sam uttered those three magical words:

“So get this”

You had learned over your time with the Winchesters that when this phrase was spoken aloud the universe came into alignment, the birds sang and adventure awaited. Because this phrase, this magical phrase meant one thing and one thing only: you guys had a case.

Never in your life had you been so happy that some poor schlub met an untimely demise at the hands of some terrible mystery beastie.  Because if there was a case it meant that contrary to recent events, the world did not revolve around your unbroken hymen.  That was a reign you were more than willing to give up.

“So get this.” Sam continued “There have been a whole mess of weird homicides a few towns over the past couple weeks.”

“What makes them so weird?” you inquired.

“Well, there’s no motive for any of them, all of the perps immediately confessed, and all of them across the board reported feeling like a passenger in their own body during the time of murder. Like they weren’t in control.”

“So, sometimes people snap.  How is this an us thing?” Dean asked, skeptical.

“Come on, Dean.  That many murders in this short amount of time...in rural Kansas?  You gotta admit that at least warrants a closer look.” Sam argued.

“Oh, fine, yeah I guess you’re right.” Dean yawned.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a knot, I’m just tired. Need to caffeinate.”   Dean left for the kitchen to down what you were sure would end up being the whole the coffee pot.

Okay, so maybe you shouldn’t have been so enthused over the deaths of a bunch of people in a neighboring town, but any distraction from the projector in your head just looping the whole debacle over and over again, was more than welcome.  Plus, a case like this meant you were probably running support.  Which meant the boys would be out of the bunker.  Which meant Dean would be out of the bunker and you two could stop expending so much energy hiding from each other.

“Ok, fantastic.” you said  “So, I’m running support, right? While pulling double duty on the tablet?”.

“Actually, _______, we kind of need you with us on this one.”  Sam explained.

“Yes, because me tagging along on your mission went so well last time.  How long til Dean ships me away this go-round?”

“Hey, I know that you two are going through a thing right now…”

“Sam, how can me and Dean be going through a thing when there is no me and Dean.

“Dean and me” Sam corrected. “Dean and I?” he second guessed himself.

“You know what I mean.”

“Listen, you two knew the risks before you got into this, ok? Just don’t let it get in the way.” Sam argued.

“Yeah, I know.  Don’t let it get in the way of the Winchester family business.  The saving people. The hunting things. I know. I just don’t get why my actual physical presence is necessary on this one.” you argued.

“Because this one? It could really be anything, ______.  And you always catch the things we don’t. Hate to admit, but it’s true.  The mortality rate on our cases has gone 20% since you joined us.”

“What, do you fucking graph this shit, you sick fuck?” you joked.

“I get bored and I like spreadsheets.” Sam says quietly, embarrassed. “So, come on.  Come with us.”

“Fine, I’ll drag your asses across the finish line like I always do, but one condition.”

“Okay…” Sam agreed tentatively.

“No pretending to be anybody’s girlfriend for the sake of a ruse, I get to wear my headphones in the car without you guys giving me the third degree for being “anti-social”, oh and I don’t have to be bait if it comes to it.”

“In what world would you have to pretend to be our girlfriend?”

“Haunted open house-They’ll only see couples.  Cover at a haunted benefit ball. Haunted couple’s cruise.” you listed. 

“That stuff almost never happens to us.”

“Almost never meaning all the time.” you argued, one eyebrow raised.

“Okay, okay.  It’s a deal.”

Shaking Sam’s hand you added “And I don’t have to go solo, with Dean.”

* * *

“Okay, Legolas” Dean said to you “what do you see with your elfin eyes?”

Instead of sparring back at Dean like you would have done just two weeks before, you simply just ignored his stab at levity.  He had lost the right to joke around with you like normal several nights ago.  Things were not normal with you guys.  You doubted they would ever be normal again.

“From where I’m standing this looks like your pretty run of the mill homicide.” you said.

You stood at the scene of the crime.  A suburban living room with a mass of dried blood on the ground.  The place was crawling with the usual crime scene investigators.

The facts were these: One Mrs. Evelyn Cod had arrived home from a long day at work to find her husband waiting in their darkened living room with a knife.  Mr. Ned Cod had then proceeded to stab his wife to death, going really overboard on her face.  All the while raving about Mrs. Cod spending extra time at the office in order to shtup her secretary.  Their teenage son heard the whole thing from up the stairs where he hid.

“Well, that’s a bit of a role reversal.” Dean commented.

“That’s what makes this even crazier, my Mom doesn’t...didn’t even have a secretary.  Her department moved all their assistants offshore last year.  I remember she made a big deal out of it because she had to start getting her own coffee.”  Evelyn’s teenage son, Ryan, explained.

“That is strange.” Sam agreed.

“Are you agents all set with Ryan?” Ryan’s Aunt Ruth asked, coming to deliver him from his family home, turned PTSD trigger.

“Uh, yeah.  Listen, if you or Ryan think of anything else, please give us a call.” Sam said handing her his card.    

“Ryan, why don’t you head out to the car?” aunt says.  Ryan nodded and headed outside.

“I didn’t want to say it in front of my nephew, but you should know.  Evelyn did have an affair with her secretary, but that was over ten years ago.  And even if Ned had done this to her then, it obviously wouldn’t have been excusable, but for him to act out now about that?  It doesn’t make any sense whatsoever.”

 

That _was_ very strange.  You thanked Ruth for her time and let her join her nephew in the car.

 

“So, do we think maybe she started up with her secretary again?” Sam wondered.

“Or, more simply, Sammy boy” you said sauntering over to where the perp had waited for his wife. “we’ve got a ghost type thingy dude” you said sticking your pencil into a pile of goo and sniffing it, your nose curling up.  “Ectoplasm.” you announced.

“Only in our world is that simpler.” Dean lamented.

“Shit, it’s a spectre.” Sam concluded.

“Looksit.” you agreed.

“Fuck.  So that means someone’s been grave robbing and this thing could be tied to literally anything.” said Dean.

 

You noticed Ruth and Ryan start to pull out of the driveway.  You ran, jetting out the front door to catch them before they zoomed off to god knows where.  Catching up to the car you frantically knocked on the window.

 

“What?” Ruth asked almost angry in response to your panicked demeanor.

“Ryan, this is going to sound really weird, but did your father buy anything weird in the past couple days, bring anything weird home, that he might have talked to you about.”

“Not really.”

“Agent, if you don’t mind I’d really like to get my nephew away from here.” Ruth reached to roll up the window.

“Oh, but” Ryan started “he did find a 1965 silver dime? He was really excited.  I guess he found it at the pawn shop and the guy didn’t know what he had. Dad, he’s kind of a coin nerd.  Is that what you were looking for?”

“Yeah, maybe. Thanks.” you said waving Ruth and Ryan on their way.

 

Sam and Dean joined you outside.

 

“What was that about?” asked Dean.

“We’re looking for a 1965 silver dime.  It was purchased at a local pawn shop.”

“Are you shitting me? Currency?  That crap could be literally anywhere, by now.” Dean complained.

“Ok, _______.   Me and Dean will split up and search the local pawn shops to see where he got it from, while you search the house for the dime, maybe we’ll get lucky and it will still be here. See if you can find it before one of these poor shnooks.” Sam said gesturing to the melange of local law enforcement.

“You’re making me search for a dime by myself?” you asked, incredulous.

“Hey, divide and conquer.” Sam offered as means of excuse.

 

And with that Sam and Dean left to scour the town for pawn shops, while you went inside to search for a needle in a haystack.

 

Grabbing a pair of rubber gloves from one of the locals, you took a deep breath lamenting the possibly gargantuan task before you and started by searching the cushions in the couch.

* * *

Sam and Dean pulled up outside the second and, in fact, last pawn shop on their  list.  It was a small town.  There was not a great need for pawn shops.

“Let’s hope this guy’s got something.” Dean said as they headed in.

 

Sam and Dean flashed their badges to the middle aged, tattooed, fu-manchu mustachioed clerk.

“Oooo, FBI.  Those real?  I’ll give you $200 a piece for them.” the clerk said.   

Dean looked like he might want to take him up on that offer, when Sam answered.

“It’s a federal crime to bribe a badge off an agent.” Sam replied.  

“Who said bribe? I just wanted to buy.”

“Sir, we were wondering if you sold a 1965 silver dime in the past week?”

“Oh yeah.  I sold a dime for twenty bucks, how crazy is that?” the shop owner replied.

“Do you remember who sold it to you?” Sam asked.

“There was this kid a couple week’s ago, comes in with this cigar box full of coins to sell.  Says it was his grandpa’s.   Now, I don’t know shit about coins, I ain’t no numismatist.”

“A what?” Dean asked.

“A numismatist is a coin collector.” Sam explained.  The clerk nodded in agreeance.

“Okay, Jeopardy.” Dean replied.

“Anyway, I  gave the kid $50 for the set, but mostly  so he would leave.  He was a little on the sketchy side.”  said the man in the dirty white tank tank top.

“Wait, _set_?” Sam asked.

“How many coins are we talking about?” Dean asked.

“Oh, it was about thirty.” the clerk said, completely oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

“It was about thirty or it was thirty?” Sam asked anger rising.

“Hold on, I’ll look it up in the book.” the clerk hauled up a big ledger which he used to track his inventory and customer information.   He flipped to a page toward the back and skimmed down the list. “Here we go.  Oh! I was wrong.”

 

Sam and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“It was actually 40 coins.”

“We’re gonna need all the information you have on the customers you sold those coins to and who sold them to you.”  Sam demanded.

“Shot in the dark here, Cheech, but do you happen to actually have any of those coins left here?” Dean said.

“Oh, yeah. I got about 20 pieces left.”  the clerk hauled up a shoe box of coins.  

“We’re gonna need to take those with us.” Dean informed him.

“Well, that’s gonna be $1,000, then.”

“Sir,  we believe this is stolen property.  It’s illegal to knowingly sell stolen merchandise.” Sam explained.

 

Dean grabbed the box and headed for the door.

 

“What if I just pretend I don’t know it’s stolen?”  the shop owner called after him.

 

 

* * *

 

Dean stood by a small fire on the side of a rural road, warming his hands over the flames of the destroyed cursed coins.  Sam sat in the passenger side seat of the Impala, half his body hanging out. He balanced a tabled and the list of coin buyers in his lap.

 

“So, uh, bad news.” Sam said.

“Bad news?  Kind of an understatement.  We’ve got 20 potentially cursed objects-” Dean started.

“If they’re infected with spectres are they technically cursed objects or is that more of a witch thing?” Sam interrupted.

“Arguing semantics, right now? Really?” Dean said.

“Right. Okay. So, bad news. Our guy who brought in the coins?  He’s dead.”  Sam turned the tablet toward Dean. And sure enough, right there, headline news - the guy had been murdered.

“What about the guy who murdered him.”

Sam turned his attention back to his tablet.   “Says here he killed himself.”

“Fan-freaking tastic.” Dean kicked the ashes of the dwindling fire in frustration.  “So, that’s it? Dead end we won’t be able to figure out who’s at the root of this?”

“Well, not necessarily.  Those coins are rare, right?  So, I did a little digging and according to the local obits, it turns out that a month ago, a numismatist by the name of Harold Perkins passed away under mysterious circumstances.”

“Mysterious circumstances?”

“He took a polishing dremel to the eyes.”

“Yeesh”

“Police ruled it an accident.”

“Gonna guess not so much on that.” Dean replied. “Okay, let’s swing back and grab ______.  Then we can hit up Mrs. Perkins about her dearly departed.

 

 

* * *

 

You had spent the last, god knows how many hours, searching for a dime.  A fucking dime.  You had come close a few times. The first two times they were the wrong year. The third time, it was a button.  So, you’d pocketed the spare change and keep looking.  Finally, something shiny caught your eye in in a return vent along the baseboard in the living room.  It was the dime.   You carefully fished it out and burned it in a small fire in the backyard, away from crime scene specialists’ prying eyes.   Just as you were finishing up, Sam and Dean pulled up outside the house.

 

“Guys, I came.  I saw.  I kicked it's ass!” you bragged.

“Great.  Just 19 more to go.” Dean informed you.

The wind knocked out of your sails, you replied “19?   There are 19 more of those out there?”

“Well, there were 39 others, but I took care of 20 of them.” Dean gloated.

“We took them from a pawn shop.” Sam corrected.

“Anyway, we think we found out who our spectre is, so you and me are gonna check out his widow, while Sam tries to track down the rest of the buyers before they can turn this town into the last reel of a Tarantino flick.”

 

You shot Sam an unsure face.  You so did not want to be left alone with Dean.

 

“Dean, why don’t I go with __________ and you go start to track down the other coins?” Sam offered, picking up on your trepidation.

“Sam, there’s 19 of them.  Do you really think _I_ should be the one looking for them?”  Dean said stressing the word “I” and attempting to make meaningful eye contact with Sam.

Sam, utterly confused replied with “Uh, yeah.  Why shouldn’t you?”

“Zeke.” Dean said quietly under his breath.

“What?” Sam asked.

 

Dean’s eyes darted to you for a second before asking Sam to join him away from you.  

 

You interested yourself with a stray bit of lint on your fed suit while they kibitzed.  You vaguely caught Dean intently saying “Don’t you think this is a job for someone bigger? Someone with more power?”  followed by Sam sounding vaguely confused and was that a flash of light?   You didn’t think it was supposed to lightning today.  

Dean returned to you.  Waiting for the Winchesters to decide the rest of your day.  Dammit, why did it always come down to that?  

 

“Okay, so Sam’s gonna track down the rest of the coins from the pawn shop, and we’re gonna go see the widow.” Dean informed you.

 

From across the lawn, Sam nodded stiffly at you and waved in a super awkward fashion.

 

“Is he okay?”  you asked Dean.

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Dean replied a little too quick.

“Okay…” you say, not believing him for a second.

* * *

The whole drive to the Widow Perkins’  Sam acted super weird, hardly said a word and just stared straight ahead at the road.  

 

“Sam, are you sure you’re okay?” you asked.

“Yes, ____________.” he said using your full name, which never happened.

“You look a little constipated do you want to stop at a bathroom?” you asked.  He really did look constipated.

 

Dean snickered from the driver’s seat, his eyes meeting yours for a second in the rearview mirror.  For a second, things were like they used to be.  Then you remembered. Things would never be the same.

 

When you arrived at your destination Dean held the car keys out to Sam, giving him strict instructions on how to treat Baby, as if Sam hadn’t spent his entire life in that car.  Sam slowly pulled away from the curb and set off to track down the other coins.

 

“Geez, Dean, cut the cord.  He’s a grown ass man.  He knows how to drive a car.” you commented.

“Yeah, I know.” Dean said dismissively, obviously not wanting to talk about it.

“Okay, so this is Mrs. Perkins’ house.  Her husband was a numismatist who died about a month ago right before all this started up.” Dean informed.

“Numismatist?” you asked.

“Yeah, a numismatist? You know, coin collector.” Dean said with a knowing smile.

“Okay” you laughed.

“Anyways, old lady.  Let’s ask her questions.”

 

Dean rang the doorbell.   However, the person who answered was not an old lady, but what you could only describe as a Suicide Girl, all pinuppy hot fabulousness.  You glanced over at Dean. Sure enough, his jaw was on the ground.

 

You realized it would be up to you to get the ball rolling.

 

“Hi, we’re Agents Quinzel and Todd.” you said flashing the badge Sam had so graciously made for you at the local Kinko’s.  

“I’m Todd, she’s Quinzel.” Dean said dumbly.

“Yeah, anyways, we were wondering if Mrs. Hillary Perkins was in, we wanted to ask her a few questions regarding her husband’s death.” you asked.

“Oh, that’s my grandmother, but with all due respect, why the hell does the FBI want to know about a totally rando accidental death?”

“Well, with all due respect, Ms. Perkins, that’s something we’re more comfortable discussing with Mrs. Perkins, herself.”

 

The Suicide Girl eyed you warily, before taking a step back into the house and yelling up the stairs  “Nana, we have company!”

 

As Hillary Perkins made her rickety descent down the stairs, all 75 years of her life showing on her face, you elbowed Dean in his ribs and mouthed “get your shit together”.  He made a face that said “what? come on.”  In turn you shot him a bitch face worthy of Sam Winchester.

 

“Come on in.”  said Suicide Betty, beckoned leading you to a sitting area where Hillary Perkins, soon joined you.

“Oh, hello.”

Dean introduced the both of you and Mrs. Perkins invited you to sit.

“Can I get you anything?  Tea? Hot water? Allison!” she called to her granddaughter who popped her head in.  “Could you put the kettle on?”    Allison, the Suicide Girl nodded and went to busy herself.

“She’s a bit on the, shall we say, alternative side, but she’s been such a help to me these past couple weeks.”  Hillary explained.  “Now, Agents what can I do for you?”

“Mrs. Perkins, we understand your husband’s death was somewhat unusual.” Dean said.

“Nothing unusual about it, I told that man to be careful with his tools all the time, but did he listen to me? No.  And what happens, I find him in the basement, a power tool whirring straight into his brain.”

“Graphic.” Dean commented.

“What was Harold working on when he passed, if you don’t mind me asking?” you asked.

 

Allison, came in and set down a tea tray complete with tiny cookies.  You and Dean each took a cuppa.

 

“Oh! Well...he just found an 1804 Draped Bust Dollar.  Very lucky.  Very rare.  You know the last one they found sold at a million dollars at auction.”

Dean did a spit take.

“A million dollars?!”

“Why, yes.  And that’s what he was polishing up when he had his little accident.” Mrs. Perkins added.

 

Dean shoved about 3 cookies in his face.  You shot him a look that said “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”.

 

“So you both stood to gain a lot of money when he sold.” Dean said, a few crumbs escaping his mouth.

“Oh! Harold never sold his coins.  It was about the collecting.  It was about the having.”

“But you did stand to gain a lot if you sold it?” you asked.

“I don’t think I like what you’re insinuating.”  Mrs. Perkins replied, getting testy.

 

A loud clattering erupted from the kitchen.  Mrs. Perkins attempted to get up to see what it was about, but quickly found her body no longer moved as sprightly as it once did.

 

“Oh, could you go see if she’s alright?” she asked Dean.

“Oh yeah.  Of course” Dean replied.

 

Your eyes followed Dean as he made his way to the kitchen.

 

“Mrs. Perkins.  I’m not insinuating anything.  I’m just saying you must be a very wealthy woman, now.”

“Agent Quinzel, If I had killed my husband for a stupid coin, then why would I have buried him with it.  In fact, why would I have buried him with his entire coin collection as was stipulated in his will?  Plus, does it look like I needed the money?”

“I’m sorry for any inferences you have made.”

“Agent, I inferred nothing.  You implied everything. Now, if that is all..” she gestured toward the door.

You made one last ditch effort to salvage the questioning: “Just, one more thing, did your husband have any enemies?  Or even any friends.”

“Enemies, no.  Friends, yes of course.”

“Any other coin collectors?”

Mrs. Perkins sighed.  “His friend, Elliott, a little bit younger than Harold.  They met at the hobby shop.  But I don’t want you harassing him, now.  He’s just as distraught as I am.”  

“Thank you, Mrs. Perkins.  That’s all we need.”

“Collect your fellow Agent and please leave.” she commanded.

 

You nodded in agreeance.

 

Man, Dean _had_ been gone a while.

 

You rounded the corner into the kitchen.

  
There you found Allison the Suicide Girl’s hands wrapped around the back of Dean’s head, her face devouring his in a heated kiss.

 

_God Dammit._

 


	13. Chapter 13

Dean’s eyes briefly opened, catching you in the corner of his vision. He quickly pushed Allison, the Suicide Girl, off him, their swollen lips a testament to what had just transpired. 

“Hey! ummm…” Dean stalled rubbing the back of his head “we were just…”

“I got what we need. Time to go.” you cut him off.

“Have a nice day.” Suicide Allison waved after Dean, a shit eating grin across her face.

 

You trudged down the freshly rain slicked sidewalk.

“Hey, wait up!” Dean called after you.

For obvious reasons, you did not wait, but he caught up to you all the same. Damn, those bowlegs were fast. You whipped out your phone.

“What are we doing?” Dean asked, slightly out of breath.

“Well, _I’m_ getting an Uber so I can check out the next suspect on our list. You, well, you’re ‘thoroughly investigating’ the witnesses.” you airquoted.

“Hey, I’m sorry! She started getting flirty and grabby and I couldn’t get her off me.” Dean tried to defend himself.

“Yeah, I can tell from your battle scars you really put up a fight.” you said gesturing to his lips which still carried a bit of Allison’s lipstick. Dean wiped his mouth and frowned at the shade of red streaked across the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry!” he contested.

“Dude, I don’t even give a fuck anymore. It’s none of my business who you catch the herp from. Just focus up, man. No personal business on company pond” you chastised.

“What?”Dean asked.

“Nothing, it’s a quote from...nevermind.” you conceded sighing.

When your Uber arrived you rode shotgun with the driver, while Dean was banished to the back seat. You rode in silence. Your driver, if he sensed the tension, wisely kept it to himself.

Standing in front of Elliot Crandall’s house Dean asked “So where are we?”

“Dead guy’s friend. Also a coin collector. I’m guessing he stole the coins to begin with.”

“So if this is where the coins _were_ , why are we here?” Dean asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, to make sure he isn’t stashing anything that might sneak up and kill a whole bunch of other people once we think this whole thing is over. Or you know to make sure, he himself hasn’t turned into a homicidal maniac. Seriously, do I have to exposition everything for you, Dean?”

“Well, fuck you, too.” Dean mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” you said, frighteningly pissed off.

“Nothing.” Dean excused.

You stared at him, your eyes burning a hole in his face.

That’s when Mr. Crandall decided to answer the door.

Without tearing your gaze away from Dean’s you held up your badge to Elliott’s face.

“Agents Quinzel and Todd of the FBI. We have some questions for you regarding your friend’s super weird death and maybe some missing coins. Can we come in?” you rattled off in one long breath.

Dean sighed and flopped out his own badge. “We just want to talk.” Dean offered as a salve to your brusque attitude toward Elliot Crandall.

Mr. Crandall led you inside and offered you a seat, but you refused.

“Mr. Crandall, this will just take a minute. Your friend died by having a power tool shoved into his brain pan. Did _you_ actually kill him?” you asked point blank, no longer in the mood for talking to lying assholes that day.

Dean wore a look on his face that said _Okay, guess we’re doing it this way_.

“What? That’s preposterous! How dare you?!” Mr. Crandall exploded.

“Did you do it?” Dean asked.

“I….can I get immunity?” went the sound of Mr. Crandall’s defense suddenly crumbling.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Dean replied.

Then you went into full on Parlor Scene mode. “Mr. Perkins, recently acquired a milion dollar coin. You wanted the coin. You killed him for it, but you couldn’t take the coin then because his wife would have noticed it missing and known that his death wasn’t an accident."  you turned to Elliot "Stop me, if I say something wrong. You were going to go back later and steal the coin when she wouldn’t notice it missing. But Mr. Perkins wanted to be buried with his coin collection so the collection was removed from his house and brought to the funeral parlor. And you swiped the collection from his casket, when people weren’t looking, you Grave Robbing Fuck.” you finished.

“Whoaa, okay. Agent Quinzel apologizes for calling you a Grave Robbing Fuck.” Dean said attempting to calm the waters.

“Okay, yeah, fine. Sorry” you conceded. “Is that how it happened?”

“Yes” Elliot started to cry “But Harold was a moron. He was just going to hold onto a million dollar coin and then once he was dead, it was just going to go back in the ground. What sense does that make?”

“Yeah, totally justifiable reason for killing your friend.” Dean said sarcastically “Okay, so you sold the collection and…”

“No, I didn’t get the chance. I was robbed before I could.  After all that I didn’t even get the money. I killed my friend and lover for nothing.”

You and Dean exchanged a what-the-fuck look.

“Lover?” Dean asked.

“Yes, we were intimate. And maybe he loved me more than I loved him” Elliot rambled.

“Well, you killed him.” you interjected.

“But what we had was real!” Elliot cried.

“My heart’s breaking for you, truly.” Dean said.

 

The door slammed behind you and Dean. The way you left it with Elliot was that he had to go down to the station to fill out a confession that afternoon or his promised “deal” would be null and void.

“What the fuck was that _______? Talk about personal business on company...pond?” Dean blasted at you the second you were out of sight of the house.

“It worked, we were out of there in record time and we learned something very valuable, Dean. Care to hazard a guess?” you said.

“Elliot hasn’t been possessed by the spectre.” Dean said.

“Which means this thing’s targeting people with a grudge.” you offered.

“And Elliot’s only beef was with Harold so he had nothing left to act on even if Harold’s spectre came for him.”

“Exactly.” you confirmed.

“So that explains why it only works on some of the people it comes in contact with.” Dean realized.

For a second, it was like old times, with the two of you having a joint epiphany about a case.  A classic mystery solving jam sesh. Then you both realized that you were ok for a second and quickly defaulted to your previous contentious state.

The low tones of “Smoke on the Water” erupted from Dean’s pocket and he fumbled to answer it.

“Sammy, how’s it going?” he paused listening “Really? Wow. Okay.” Dean turned to you. “Hey, ______ where are we?” he asked.

You informed him of your current address and waited for him to finish his call with Sam before saying anything.

“He coming for us?” you asked.

“Yep.” Dean replied a half grin on his face.

“He done for the day?”

“He’s done, period.” Dean affirmed.

“What?” you asked.

“He found all the coins and already destroyed them.”

“Seriously?” you asked, delighted, but skeptical. “How?”

“I don’t know. Woman's intuition? Who cares? It’s done.”

 

A few minutes later, Sam pulled up. You couldn’t help, but congratulate him on a job well done, even if the circumstances seemed somewhat dubious to you.

“Man, Sam, Harry Potter’s got nothing on you. It took him like half a year in the Forest of Dean to find and destroy one horcrux. And you just wiped out like 19 cursed objects in one afternoon. That’s insane.”

“It _is_  insane.” Sam said looking back at you from the front passenger seat. “I felt like I was being almost guided to where the coins were.”

“Sam, give yourself a little credit.” Dean interjected, with a fake panicky smile. “You had a great hunch, you followed it to its conclusion. Don’t be so modest. You’re just a really smart little guy.”

“Anyone else feel like this one was just a little too easy?” you said.

“Learn how to take the win, ________. I’m just happy we get to go home so I can take off this dumb suit.”

Sam snorted. “You love that suit; don’t try to pretend you don’t.”

“Yeah, you spent 3 hours in the store boring me out of my god damn mind getting it just right. You fucking love that suit.” you added.

“It’s bespoke.” Dean pouted lightly caressing his sleeve.

* * *

 

So, the case was over and you didn’t even get to shoot anything. Oh well, thems the perils of hunting. Sometimes you just didn’t get to kill anything.

Dean steered the Impala into its designated space in the bunker garage and cut the engine. Sam headed inside and you went to follow him, but Dean, hanging back, stopped you.

  
“Hey, can we talk for a second?” he asked, flipping the keys to the Impala around in his had.

“When are we not talking, Dean?”

“We’re friends right?” Dean asked

“______, please can we just go back to the way things were before? When we didn’t avoid each other and you weren’t always angry at me.”

“I’m not always angry at you.”

“Then whatever it is you are... at me lately.”Dean looked off working out the syntax of what he just said before finally deciding that it made sense.

“You want to pretend nothing ever happened."

“That’s not…” Dean started

“Well, sure, Dean-o baby. Why not? If that’s what you want. Everything’s peachy keen as peach pie, Dean. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Orange is the New Black is not going to watch itself. And you know, translating the tablet, saving the world. That shit.” you excused yourself, quickly exiting the garage.

* * *

  
_Fucking asshole._

_Fucking beautiful asshole_....Who just wanted to be friends with you. Damn had you been too harsh? You didn’t even know anymore. At this point it had become harder and harder to track what had actually happened. You didn’t think you were at fault. But maybe you were. Maybe you weren’t. Maybe, even at your advanced age you still weren’t ready for adult relationships. But was anyone ever actually really ready? Your guess was no. That the universe was chaos and people just dealt with shit as it came. This was, of course, in direct contention with the fact that you were a prophet and thus knew that there was at least a little order to the universe. These were the pointless big picture things that you thought of in order to make yourself feel better about Dean repeatedly hurting you. It sort of worked. Until it was your turn to get Crowley to help you with a translation.

 

“_________, long time; no see.” Crowley said in that way that would be flirtatious in a human, but coming out of him sounded like the hissing of a snake. 

“Yeah, I know. You’re just starved for attention, ya little cuddle bug.” you lobbed back.

“I see your little problem persists.” he gestured toward your crotch.

 You sighed “Maybe it’s the one thing keeping me alive in this nightmare reality, huh, horror movie rules and shit. Maybe I want to be a virgin.”

“Well, then you’re doing a stellar job, darling. Just top notch.”

You handed Crowley that day’s glyphs and a crayon. A crayon, because it was difficult to murder someone with a crayon. You weren’t naive enough to think it impossible, but, yes, generally harder. Also, the sight of the King of Hell forced to use a scented purple glitter crayon, was more than a little amusing to you.

“You know, I tried, right?” you said idly.

“Tried what, Luv?” Crowley responded not looking up from his work.

“To lose it.” you half laughed.

“Doesn’t seem like it would be that hard. You frequent enough truck stops.”

“Yeah well. I tried with Dean.”

“Well, I’m happy you didn’t try with Sam. the Moose would’ve ripped you right in half. Not exactly gentle that one.”

“Ha. Like you’d care.”  
“I’m loathe to admit it, but I do harbor a sort of” Crowley gesticulated searching for the proper word “affection for you.”

“Oh my goodness, I’m the King of Hell’s best friend. Do I get a special hat?” you mocked.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Virgin blood just feels better.” Crowley said looking away.

“You like me. You think I have gumption and spunk and a whole bunch of other old timey words, cause you’re old as shit.” you teased him.

Crowley sighed. “You can do better than Dean.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” you confessed to the King of Hell.

Your life was weird.

* * *

One thing was certain, though. You didn’t feel like hanging around the bunker that night, trying and probably failing to save the world through research. Especially because it meant hanging around Dean-let’s-just-be-friends-Winchester.

Not there's anything wrong with being friends.  There's not really a "just" when it comes to friends.  You believed that, you truly did.  And being friends with Dean was fine for the longest time. It was enough for you. But then he had to go and show you the possibility of other things. He just had to open that door a crack and give you a glimpse of what you thought impossible. You’d seen it and you had briefly felt it. And, suddenly, being Dean’s Gal Friday was no longer enough for you.

So, you left a note, jumped in your old station wagon which barely passed inspection last year and hit the road. You didn’t even bother to check to see if you had your phone on you. You just needed to get out of that bunker as fast as possible.

Your car trundled along a country road. The darkness seemed interminable, and absolute, out there, where they didn’t believe in street lights. As you drove, the darkness was broken by the glow of a local bar.

  
_That’ll work_ you thought, swinging the wagon into the gravel parking area.

You cut the engine and let the silence envelop you. It was so quiet, all the cells in your ears screamed out, trying to grab onto any stimuli they could understand. This created a silence so loud it was high pitch deafening. It was like that high pitch ringing you get in your ears after a rock concert, which is actually the sound of those cells in your ears dying.  Once that ringing stopped you would never hear that pitch again. It was the swansong for that exact frequency.  Strange, that this silence should feel like listening to part of you die. You let the silence fill you up. You let it in all your cracks. You let it still you.

Until you realized that, really, you were just sitting in a car outside a bar and as interesting as you found the idea of stillness and silence and part of you dying forever and all that jazz, there was lots of alcohol to be had.

* * *

** 1 Hour and About 3 Drinks Later **

You were officially more drunk than you had been in your entire life.  Which wasn't saying much; you were a bit of a lightweight.  So, you weren’t sloppy, but the lights were most definitely dimmed.

“You have any chips?” you asked the female bartender- a motherly type. Probably a divorcee.

“Here you go sweetheart.” she said handing you a bowl of chips.

You quietly stuffed your face.

“These are so good right now.” you said lovingly to your bowl of chips.

**30 More Minutes and 1 Long Island Iced Tea Later**

“You know what sucks about this, besides like everything?” you mumbled half toward the bartender and half toward the counter where your head was resting “Is that we didn't even break up because we were never together. So, like, am I allowed to be upset about this? Our relationship that never was? I mean this fucking hurts like a break up. But i'm so confused because we were never actually anything. We were an almost something. And now I'm just left with all this hurt that I can't even really explain to anyone. And like society’s like oh, just get the fuck over it cry baby. Nothing even happened. Pffft...society.” you punctuated this last remark by slurping down the dregs of your Long Island Iced Tea, the empty sucking sound ringing over the fifth repeat of Tom Jones’ “It’s Not Unusual”.  

Seriously, who the fuck put that on so many times?

Your eyes started to tear up. “I think he fucking broke me. I feel. I feel broken. ”

“Honey, he’s not worth it.” the bartender tried to console you.

* * *

“Dean!” Sam called jogging down the hall, laptop in hand.

“What?” Dean groggily popped his head out of his room wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Were you taking a nap?”

“You get it when you can, Sammy.”

“Look at this.” Sam said handing him the laptop.

It took a second for Dean to adjust his eyes to what he was seeing. Splayed across the screen was a series of grisly crime scene photos. They showed a mess of unintelligible bloody awfulness.

“Picked up an APB on the scanner and then these.”

“This the Pat Bateman special?” Dean asked.

“Girl in the town we just left, killed her boyfriend.”

“Okay…” Dean said waiting out Sam’s line of reasoning.

“But not before before cutting off his penis.”

Dean’s stomach lurched and the computer dropped from his hands. If it hadn’t been for Sam’s Peter Parker reflexes the machine would’ve smashed into a million pieces.

“Did you just wake me up to tell me some guy got his dick cut off?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed. “The girl. The one that did this. She’s the granddaughter of our original coin collector. Of our spectre.”

Allison the Suicide Girl had gone Lorena Bobbitt on her boyfriend. Dean went white as a sheet.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I just ummm...feel like I dodged a bullet, a little bit.” Dean said his voice going a little higher than usual.

“Dean, I don’t think we got all the coins.” Sam explained.

“We got 40 coins destroyed right? The pawn shop guy had 40 and we destroyed 40.”

“What if there’s one that never made it to the pawn shop?”

“Fuck.” Dean concluded.

“And another thing. I don’t think this spectre’s targeting people who feel betrayed. I mean, a lot of people must have touched these things and they didn’t all turn into homicidal maniacs and betrayal's kind of a common feeling. I think it’s targeting people who feel romantically betrayed.”

“Well, that would explain the extreme circumcision.”

Epiphany washed over Sam.

“Dean, who do we know who might be feeling a little romantically betrayed, right now?”

Dean’s face fell. He jetted down the hall to your room, to check on you.

“Is she in there?!” Sam called after Dean. Dean reemerged from your room holding up the note you had scribbled out and put on your bed.

It read “Went out.”

“Calling her.” Sam whipped out his phone and dialed, waiting for you to pick up.  
From down the hall they faintly heard “Cherry Bomb” - Your ringtone.  
Their faces fell as they realized you had left your phone behind.

* * *

Back at the bar, you were still spilling your guts, talking in circles to the poor bartender whose misfortune it was to have you show up on her shift.

“He’s really nice, I guess. He didn’t want to sleep with me because he didn’t want to be the asshole to break my heart, but he broke it anyways by not being the asshole who broke my heart.” you rambled.

“What?” the bartender asked.

“I don’t know. Can i have some water?” you asked.

“Sure, hon.”

You blew your nose into your sleeve with a loud honk..

“Thank you.” you called after her.

* * *

“What did you say to her?!” Dean screamed in Crowley’s face slamming his fist down on the table. “Where did she go?”

“I haven’t the foggiest, Squirrel. Maybe she just wanted to get away from you.” Crowley replied his demeanor edging toward anger.

“Dean we’re wasting our time. She’s out…” Sam said.

“Yeah and that thing’s out there and she doesn't know and it’s all my fault.” Dean replied.

“I agree with you on that one, Squirrel.” Crowley added.

“SHUT UP” Sam and Dean yelled in unison, slamming the doors to the MOL dungeon shut.

“We got to split up and go look for her.” Dean ordered.

“Do you think that’s such a good idea, Dean. If this thing has her…”

“Then I’m target #1, I know. But we can’t just leave her out there.” Dean grabbed his jacket, his favorite gun and headed out. He popped his head back in and said at Sam

"Unless...there was somebody who could help us find her….”

“What are you….” Sam started, but was interrupted when his body powered up and went full on Zeke mode “No, Dean. I already wasted too much power today tracking down those things for you. This is your fault. Find her yourself.” Ezekiel asserted.

“Okay, fine. Touchy.”

* * *

Around the 17th repeat of Tom Jones’ “It’s Not Unusual” is when you’d decided you’d had enough. Time for a change. You pulled a dollar out of your pocket and ambled toward the jukebox. Your coordination wasn't too bad at this point. You only stumbled about 3 times righting yourself each time without the help of any of the other bar patrons, thank you very much.

You dragged your hand down the glass of the jukebox tracing the names of the songs before smiling as you found your choice.

You slid the dollar into the slot. The machine spat it back out. You whined in displeasure and tried again.  
The dollar shot back out.  
“Fucking cocking hell.” you said a little too loud. “Come on.”  
You smoothed the dollar out on the glass and made one last attempt.  
Huzzah! There was a god.  
You punched in your song’s code, satisfied you had made the correct choice.

A metallic clanging and you were alerted to two coins which had dropped into the change return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have seen a crazy amount of support and a lot of awesomely kind comments for this fic and I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank you for all the love all of you have been sending my way.
> 
> We have a few chapters left. Stay tuned.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Torture

Mrs. Hilary Perkins placed the box of antique coins in her late husband’s casket.  Under normal circumstances, it would have been an open casket viewing, but given the gruesome nature of Harold’s demise, she thought it best not to subject others to such a show. It was better that his friends and family remember him as he was, without a gaping facial wound the size of a hamster.

The last time Harold Perkins’ body ever saw the light of day was when Elliot Crandall quietly creaked open the mahogany box.  Had Harold simply been put under a sleeping spell, this would be when his Prince Charming, Elliot would have reached in and broken the curse with true love’s kiss, however, since Harold was dead by Elliot’s hand, the spirit of Harold Perkins could well have guessed what would actually come next.  That bastard Elliot snatched Harold’s coin collection from his cold dead hands and quickly shut the casket, sealing Harold’s body forever inside.

Elliot fumbled to get the box under his jacket and in the kerfuffle to remain inconspicuous, one coin escaped the box.  A misprinted US quarter rolled under the kitchen cabinet.

Allison Perkins spoke in pleading tones to her boyfriend on the other end of the phone.  Ever since she moved in with her grandmother, to help her out with daily tasks, he had felt a distance both physical and emotional growing between them.  Allison could just make out a female voice in the background of the call.

“Are you seriously hanging out with your ex tonight?  I’m stuck here and you’re with her?” she asked.

Muffled on the phone, one could just make out “You know she’s dating Rick now.  Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“I don’t trust her; she hates me.” Allison started before she was cut off by more frustrated noises and promises from the other end of the line.

The doorbell pulled Allison away from the argument with her boyfriend. She returned to the kitchen to make some tea and put cookies on a tray.  When she next returned, it was to clean out the teapot she had used earlier.  Not the good, fancy one she put on the tray.  The one she used to actually heat the water.  Forgetting that sometimes hot things are hot and thinking too much of the idea of her boyfriend cheating on her with his ex she promptly burned her hand on the scalding pot, sending the receptacle clattering to the ground.   

That’s when Dean came in to see if she was ok. He immediately had her hand under cold water, taking care of her.  And thinking of her boyfriend probably shtupping his ex at that very moment and of the nice (admittedly hot) federal agent taking care of her, she decided to see what she could make happen.  She reached up with her non-burnt hand and pulled Dean in for a kiss.    He had been hesitant, at first, but she kept going.  So, he kept going, even against his better judgement and the voice in his head screaming _This is not _____. Stop being stupid.  She’s in the next room._ That thought must have been a beacon to you, because that’s when you showed up and caught him with Allison.

Allison went to pick up the, now broken, kettle and mop up the water that had spilled, when she found the quarter underneath the kitchen cabinet and thought nothing of slipping it in her pocket.

Instantly, she felt something come over her.  She knew what she had to do.   That night she went to her boyfriend’s house.  When he met her at the door she greeted him with a wanting kiss.  In the afterglow of their sex, while he slept, she slipped down to the kitchen and got a butcher knife.  And well, you know the rest.   

Immediately, after performing the overzealous bris, she came to, realized what she had done and immediately called 911.  (Also, she dropped his severed penis on the ground because, ew.)  

As the cops hauled Allison away, the quarter dropped from her bra onto the sidewalk where a crime scene photographer found it.  Feeling no ill will towards his girlfriend, the coin and spectre had no effect on him.

After work, he met his girlfriend at a roadside bar where he pumped the jukebox full of quarters and set the machine to play Tom Jones as many times in a row as possible.  

“What are you doing?” his girlfriend asked.

“It’s gonna be hilarious.” he affirmed.

“Are you doing that fucking John Mulaney bit?  I can’t take you anywhere.  We’re going home.  This was supposed to be our night out.”

“Oh, come on, honey.” he pleaded as his girlfriend went out the door.

And that’s when you strolled in. All full of hurt and confusion.  Some time later you decided to play Fleetwood Mac’s “[The Chain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PppUJ_JGq2U)”, an apt song for the circumstances you currently found yourself in, and received a certain quarter as your change.

* * *

You fished the two quarters out of the coin return.  The second your skin made contact with the change, an amazing sense of clarity washed over you, and in addition to being instantly sober, you knew exactly what you had to do.

So, how fortuitous it was when the exact person you wanted to see ambled in at that exact moment.   Dean’s eyes scanned the room.  Looking for someone.  Looking for you.  He seemed worried. On edge. When his eyes finally found you, standing next to the jukebox, he looked more relieved than you had ever seen him. His set jaw relaxed and even from across the room you could see his muscles go a bit more lax than a moment before.

“Dean!” you yelled running to hug him “Don’t you just love this song, it’s so good.” you said snuggling into him. "The chaiiiiinnnnn...will keep us together" you sang.

“Whoa, somebody’s a friendly drunk.” Dean said.

Dean led you outside.  Well, not so much led you, as walked outside and you just sort of came with him because you were clamped to his body via a side hug that had you bent at the waist and stumbling along.

Dean loaded you into the Impala.

“We can come back for your car tomorrow.”

 

He peeled out of the lot.

 

“Okayyyy...so, what’s going on?” you asked.

“You forgot your phone and you left a shitty note.  That’s what’s going on.”

“Oh, who invited Mr. Serious?” you mocked him.

“We were worried about you, _____.”

“ _We_ were worried…”

“I was worried, okay.  Turns out we missed a coin so we still have a spectre thing going on.”

“Awwww...and you wanted to make sure I was safe. That’s so cute.” you said squishing Dean’s face.  Dean gave you a weird, suspicious look.

“You are really drunk.”

“I feel fantastic.” you slid your hands down Dean’s chest to his thigh.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked.

“Just having a little fun.”

You placed light kisses on Dean’s neck trailing up to his ear, which you then nibbled.

“_______, that’s, uh, a little distracting.”

“Pull over, then.” you said.

Dean pulled away from you giving you a questioning look.  You raised a flirty eyebrow in response.  Dean immediately pulled over to the side of the road.

You were on him in an instant, pushing him back in his seat.  You straddled him, grinding your hips down into his.  Kissing him roughly violently, with animalistic need.   His hands slipped up your back and under your shirt. You pulled your shirt off and continued by licking the side of Dean’s face.  

“Wait, wait _______.  Where’s all this coming from?  You don’t want this. You’re just  drunk.”

“Isn't this what you wanted.  For your little virgin to stop being such a stick in the mud?”

You jammed your hand down the front of Dean’s pants and found him stiffening.

“Whoa!” Dean almost jumped out of his seat, fumbling your hand out of his pants. “ _____, stop. for a second.”

“But _he_  doesn't want me to stop.” you said pouting and inclining your head towards Dean’s crotch.  

“Hell, he’s not the one in charge.” Dean asserted.

“Ha! since when?” you mocked.

You continued kissing down Dean’s chest.  

“________, stop it.”  Dean heaved you off him all, but tossing you across the front seat.

“Don’t you want to fuck me dean?  You know you want to. You’ll fuck everyone else.  Why won’t you fuck me?”  

“Not like this, ___, not like this. Let’s just get you back to the bunker.”

He started the car back up and pulled back onto the road.

“You won’t fuck me like this.  You won’t fuck me when we plan it out. You just don’t want to fuck me, Dean.  Admit it.  You’re just not.  You’re not attracted to me. And this. It just isn’t going to work, is it?” You scooted closer to Dean.  “Dean, this body wants.  Needs.  Is screaming out to be touched. To be fucked.”

You grabbed his hand away from the steering wheel and placed it on your breast.  He ripped it away from your grasp, not saying anything.

“I’m starting to feel more than a little insulted.” you said.  “You know.  What you said to me? You thought ‘bedroom me’ would be different?”  

Too late did Dean glance your way and notice the ectoplasm dripping from your ear.  

You threw an elbow in his face,  knocking him out cold.  The car swerved sharply and you grabbed the wheel to prevent it from completely spinning out of control.

“That different enough for you?”

* * *

 

_Sonovabitch._

This was the first thought that surfaced in Dean’s foggy mind, though he couldn’t quite remember why, just yet.  Then the pain set in, throbbing, everywhere.  And he couldn’t move his arms or legs. Or open his mouth. _Fuck._ Yep, he was bound and gagged, duct taped to a chair. It wasn’t the first time in his life this had happened and he, unfortunately, doubted it would be the last.

He managed to pry his dry eyes open and was greeted with a blinding shaft of morning light, blazing in through a broken warehouse window.  He thought it was a testament to the declining nature of the world that there seemed to be a neverending slew of abandoned warehouses, in which he and his brother always ended up. Or, at least, he might have thought this if he weren't in so much damn pain.

Morning light.  That means he’d been out for a while.  But he wasn’t dead yet.  So..that bode well?

That’s when he noticed a table to laid out with all manner of nasty looking implements.

No, actually, that did not bode well.

He tried to wrestle himself free from his bonds, but to no avail.  Fucking duct tape.  He couldn't get out of it.  You’d wrapped it too thick. Unfortunately, this was something you had learned to do from him.   He would have been proud if it weren't for the fact you were using his teachings to facilitate his torture and murder.

Behind him, he heard a heavy door slam shut followed by nearing footsteps.  You appeared, wearing last night’s clothes and placed a blowtorch and a belt next to the already impressive amount of  tools you had gathered.  You turned to him, leaning against the table, casually, arms crossed, appraising him almost as an oddity.  His eyes met yours, furious.  You noticed his hands behind him trying to reach for something.

“Looking for that secret knife you keep in?...well..You know where you keep it.  Sorry. Had to take it.”  you said producing a knife.  

You crossed the distance between you and straddled his lap. Not saying anything, you grabbed him by his his hair, pulling his head back and kissed him roughly over the duct tape before mercilessly ripping it from his mouth.

“Sonovabitch!” he yelled.

“Morning, Dean.” you said, a sly smile across your face. You held Dean’s knife to his cheek.  “Care for a shave?” you giggled.

“Guess you were infected by that spectre we've been chasing, unless you just decided to go all fatal attraction by yourself. Don’t happen to have any spare change, do you?”

“Oh, you mean this?” you said producing the cursed quarter from your pocket “Sorry, gonna hold onto it for safe keeping” you slowly slipped it into your bra making sure you had Dean’s undivided attention “right there.  Safe and sound.”

“And that’s why you should always wash your hands after touching money.  Never know where it’s been.”

“Could say the same for you.” you shot back at Dean.

“Come on, _______.   Let me go before you do something you’ll regret.”

“Oh, we’re hopping straight to ‘let me go’.  Are we done flirting?  So soon?”

“Cut me loose before something bad happens you can’t come back from.”

“Dean, Dean, Dean.  It’s adorable you think you’re still in control here.”

You slipped your hands down his chest, looked him straight in the eye and ripped his shirt open. He looked at you his gaze full of anger and fire, still a little confused if he should be turned on or fear for his life. He’d soon figure it out.  You danced the edge of the knife across chest, and ounce of pressure away from cutting him.

“It’s tragic, really.  I’m the one woman Dean Winchester won’t sleep with.  You must really hate me, you know that.  Don't worry about this” you said, meaning the knife “For now. We're just gonna have a little conversation. Later? Well, other things.” You stood up and walked back to your supply table.

“You know, I  wouldn't even have thought we” you gestured between Dean and you with the knife “were possible until you dangled it in front of me. You gave me hope and you took away. And why? Why Dean? Because you could.”

“______, it’s not like that.”

“It’s not your turn to speak.” anger overtook your voice.

You ripped off a piece of duct tape and placed it back across Dean’s mouth. Dean groaned, the sound muffled by his gag.

“You know, I was a hunter for about 2 years before I was ever a prophet. People seem to forget that. Think I’m just the Winchester’s helper monkey. Lap dog. Comfort pig...Bitch. Whatever fucking name you want to call me.  My point is, I am not someone you fuck with.” you smashed your hand down the table “And you Dean….oh, you.  You fucking broke me.  And I want to know if you even fucking care. Speak!” you yelled, rushing to him and ripping the tape off again.

“Ah! Seriously? Again?” Dean yelled, smarting from the tape.

“Answer the fucking question!”

“Yes!  Yes, I care okay?  You’re my friend.  I care that I hurt you.”

“I’m your friend? Dean friends don’t do what you did to me.”

“And what did I even do to you, _____?  I didn’t sleep with you? Oh, boo-fucking-hoo.”

“What did you do? You made me feel like I was loved and valued and that things were possible.  Against my better judgement.  Against everything life has ever taught me. You made me feel that.” you paused “And then you fucking stole it back.  You took it all back. So, yeah. You broke me...So, now. I’m going to break you. “

You stretch out another piece of duct tape.  Readying to gag Dean, once more.

“_______, snap out of it. This isn’t you doing this.”

“This isn’t me? Ha. Dean, that is actually hilarious. Because this is the most me I’ve ever been.”  

You slapped the tape over Dean’s mouth.

Your hands hovered over all the tools at your disposal, judging. Making your choice. Finally, you snatched up a huge-not-fucking-around knife.

You grabbed Dean’s face, by his jaw and held the flat of the blade to his face, just under his eye.

“Pretty knife, huh? You love pretty things. Pretty things for pretty Dean. Dont worry. Not gonna touch that pretty little face of yours.”

You placed the cool blade over his anti-possession tattoo.

“Might carve you a few new scars though, elsewhere.  Scars are soooo sexy.”

You pressed the blade down, drawing a thin line of blood.  Dean inhaled sharply.  You made several more shallow cuts across his chest then returned to the table.  You grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Wouldn’t want those to get infected.”

You splashed it across his body.   His screams muffled by the duct tape.  You tossed the bottle aside and returned to the table grabbing the belt.   

You whipped Dean across the back leaving welts and bruises just this side of bleeding.

Dean’s head started to loll, just this close to passing out from the pain.

“Hey! Wake up. You’re gonna miss all the fun.”

You dropped to your knees in front of Dean, quickly undoing his pants.

Dean tried his best to wiggle away from you.  Fight back. Stop you, but it was no use.

You tugged his pants down to his ankles.  You dragged your nails up his thighs, maintaining eye contact the whole time.  Your hands getting closer and closer to his cock.  Just when you were about to touch him, you pulled away.

“What you thought I was gonna give you a blow job? A handy? No, you don’t get that.  In fact, you don’t get anything at all anymore.”  

You grabbed the blow torch off the table and lit it up. You edged toward Dean, delighting in the fearful look in his eyes.

“______, stop.” you heard Sam  from behind you.  You were amazed that someone of his size and predisposition towards clumsiness, could be so stealthy.

You turned to look.  He had a gun levelled at your head.

“This doesn’t involve you, Sam.”

“With all due respect, ____, you’re about to flame broil my brother’s dick.  So, I think it has a hell of a lot to do with me.”   _shit,_ that sounded a lot cooler in Sam’s head.   _Wait, did it really? Fuck. Ok. Whatever. Save Dean._

“You have a hell of a lot to do with your brother’s dick?”

_Shit, she noticed._ “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know. And I also know that you have the safety on, there.” Sam looked at his gun for a half second, confused.  Thinking you were right.  That’s all the time you needed to charge him, knocking the gun from his hands. You wrestled him to the ground, punching him over and over, really wailing on him. Sam landed a punch square to your jaw, momentarily knocking you out.  

He rushed to Dean and started cutting him free.  

Out of nowhere a fire extinguisher came down on Sam's head.  He crumpled to the ground unconscious, you standing over his body.

“Enough fucking around”  you grabbed the biggest, meanest looking knife “Goodnight, Dean.”

You raised it above your head  preparing for the coup de grace straight into Dean’s heart.

The cursed quarter dropped out the bottom of your bra.  (This was what you got for being too awkward to let that girl at Victoria’s Secret measure you properly.)  It hit the ground with the expected metallic noise.  

All at once, every ounce of anger and fury drained from you.  You slowly brought the knife down, looking at it in abject horror. You dropped it to the ground, wanting to get it as far from you, as possible,  your whole body shaking.  Your hands.  Your hands covered in Dean’s blood. Your eyes wide in stunned disbelief.   You looked from Sam’s unconscious body to Dean, bloodied, battered and broken before you.  You could hardly breathe.

You did this.  

You did all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for this depressingness have this bit of fun.
> 
> http://40.media.tumblr.com/5ddab72b3f628db52071b2cec7326506/tumblr_nirol2pyLC1rqc58to1_1280.jpg


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Self Harm, self loathing, sandwiches

Sam had Dean propped up in the front passenger seat, passed out, Sam’s jacket draped over him. He looked in the rearview mirror to you in the backseat.  Eyes unblinking, just staring out the window, almost catatonic.  

_What have I done?_ echoed in your head over and over.   

The side of the road blitzing by outside the car held no answers.

Sam knew all too well, what you were feeling at the moment.  He, himself, had fallen prey on more than one occasion  to someone or something else taking the wheel in the ole cabeza. He knew the shame and guilt you must have been feeling.  

He also knew that nothing he could say would really make it any better. He could hit you with the old classic “it’s not your fault” because it wasn’t.  It wasn’t your fault. But he knew you.  He knew you wouldn’t listen.  He knew you wouldn’t believe that for a second. And it wouldn’t do anything to stop you from pointing all the blame and hatred inward.  

He’d just have to be there for you. To try and save you, you and Dean both, from yourselves.  God, you guys were a mess, but at the moment he just wanted to get you both home.  

Also, he was nursing a monster headache from when you’d knocked him out.  In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have even been driving given the fact he was most definitely more than a little concussed.   

All this to explain that the three of you road home in silence.

* * *

Sam tried a few times to gently wake Dean when you arrived back at the bunker.  Dean just groaned and shifted away from him, still very much asleep.  So, Sam had to carry him to his room, like he was a child that had fallen asleep trying to wait for New Year’s.

You held Dean’s bedroom door open so Sam could bring him in.  

Sam laid Dean gently down on his bed.  You watched as he peeled away the clothes you had ruined, revealing the severity of Dean’s injuries.  They weren’t anything lethal, but they also weren’t papercuts. 

You were vaguely aware of Sam asking you something, the sound muddled as if you were underwater. It came into the focus as Sam yelling “______, first aid kit!” at you.  

You obediently fetched the thing from the kitchen and delivered it to Sam so he could take care of Dean.   Sam looked back to the doorway to tell you to go get some sleep, but you’d already disappeared.

* * *

 

_What have I done?_

This thought still echoed in your head, days later.  

You’d largely quarantined yourself to your room.  A self-imposed solitary confinement.  You’d seen yourself unfit for gen pop. You only left your room for the essentials, which in this case just boiled down to using the toilet.

After you brought Sam the first aid kit you had found yourself in the bathroom, somehow.  Just staring into the mirror.  You didn’t recognize the person staring back at you.  Sure, she looked sort of familiar if you squinted your eyes just right, but there was something wholly foreign to this woman staring back at you.  She looked old, wasted and twisted.  That wasn’t you.  That couldn’t be who you were.  But that was you.  It was who you were, now. You couldn’t stand looking at her.  You hated her.  

With one strong thrust, your right fist went flying through the mirror.  It shattered to pieces as your hand collided with the cinder block wall behind it, shredding your knuckles in the process. Blood trickled down the back of your hand, triggering flashbacks.

You, slicing Dean’s chest open.  

You, beating him mercilessly.

You hurting him to within an inch of his life.

You, you, you.

You ripped your clothes off as you marched to the shower, quickly flipping the water on and stepped under the steady stream of water. You inhaled sharply as the water invaded your split knuckles. Your blood circled the drain, mixing with the water to turn a sort of orange. You reached up to the tap and turned it as hot as it would go.  You clenched your eyes against the pain.  And screamed silently. You tried to burn away what you did, but no matter how hot the water got, it couldn’t change the past.

 

You passed by Sam in the hallway on your way back to your room.  

“Hey what happened there? Are you ok?” Sam asked referencing your bandaged knuckles.

“We need a new mirror in the bathroom.  Sorry.” you said flatly.

“_____, what’s…” Sam began to press the issue, but you just shut the door in his face.

* * *

  
You tried to make yourself as small as possible.  Invisible.  Tried to fade yourself from the bunker.  Tried to avoid Sam and Dean.  Tried to avoid causing them any more misfortune.  Kept your head down.  Worked on the angel tablet.  Stayed in your room.  Only went to pee when you were sure Sam and Dean were asleep. Only ate when, well you never ate. Food was for people.  And you’d decided you weren’t a real person. Not anymore.

 

There was a knock on your door followed by Sam’s voice.

“_______, I made you a sandwich.  Roast beef like from that place in Massachusetts that one time with the kelpie.”

Silence from your side of the door.

“Come on, ____I know you haven’t been eating.”  Sam tried to open your door, but it was locked. “Okay, i’m gonna leave it on the floor, right out here.  Please eat it. You’ve gotta be starving, by now. If you won’t do it for yourself, at least do it for me?”

The sandwich went stale waiting for you.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A couple days later, Dean was up and around, almost all better, accept for the yellowing bruise on his face, and his healing cuts.  Man, what he wouldn’t give for Cas to still have his grace.  Would certainly have made quick work of more than a few of his current problems.  But the one vexing him at the moment, was one Cas wouldn’t have been able to help with, even if he did still have his grace.  

It was partially his fault you went dark side and were now locked up in your room punishing yourself.  Okay, maybe not partially. If he hadn’t hurt you to save himself from hurt, you wouldn’t have felt betrayed enough to be so easily manipulated.  

He hadn’t seen you in days. That was also partially his fault, but this time for a good reason. To him, his injuries weren’t the worst. _I mean, I’m not gonna be in for the whole “50 Shades” scene anytime soon, but all in all, I’m okay._  But he knew how you seeing him like this would send you into a tailspin. He didn’t want to remind you of something that made you feel awful. He wanted so desperately to stop hurting you.  So he kept his distance.

That’s when he saw the sandwich Sam had left outside your door.  

“Floor sandwich! Dibs!” Dean said scooping up the plate.

 _Wait a second! Why’s there a roast beef sandwich on the floor?_ was the thought that slowly came to Dean’s mind.  You had to cut the man some slack.  He was coming off a lot of painkillers.

And he realized. It was your favorite kind.  And was at least a day and a half old, untouched.  So, you hadn’t eaten in god knows how long.   That was the last straw for Dean.  Nobody was going hungry under his roof.

Dean made you a fresh sandwich and went to your door, knocking rapidly.

“_____, open up.  I made you some food and you’re going to eat it even if I have to stuff it-” Dean was interrupted by the slight grind of metal as you unlocked the door. Well, that was easy he thought.   Dean waited a second for you to open it.  When you didn’t, he realized it was up to him to do so. He turned the knob slowly and the door opened with a creak.

All of your clothes were piled on your bed. Dean found you furiously shoving balled up garment after balled up garment into your duffel bag.  

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What does it look like? I’m packing.” You couldn’t bring your eyes to meet the yellowing bruise on his face.  Dean set down the sandwich.

“For what?”

“You know what. 

“Come on, _______. Honestly, it was pretty hot until you tried to kill me.” he tried.

“Just let me go; it’s best for everybody.”

“You can’t go. Out that door, it's demons, and it's angels, and they would all love to get their hands on a prophet.”

“It doesn’t matter.  The bunker’s supposed to be safe.  So, no monsters.” you said gesturing to yourself.

“You’re not a monster.  You had a monster try to take control of you.”

"Six of one.  Half dozen of the other." you waved him off.

"It's not the same thing, ________."

“You don’t understand.  I wasn’t just going to kill you.  I was going to carve you apart piece by piece.” you dragged the color of his shirt down to show the still healing cuts across his chest. You released him, pushing him away a little.

“Tis, merely a flesh wound.” Dean half smirked pulling the stretched collar of his shirt back into place and rubbing his chest, soothing himself.

“Don’t joke.”

“I ain’t dead.” Dean argued.

“Because Sammy got there in time. If he hadn't; you would be.”

“Yes, but he did and it’s okay. I’m okay, now.”

“I tortured and tried to kill you.  Do you know how many levels of ‘not okay’ that is?”

“______, you’re not a Winchester until your body gets hijacked by something and you try to kill everyone.”

“I’m poison.  Okay? What I did to you? It’s something that is in me that could do that. It wasn’t just the spectre it was a part of me that did that.  You can’t be around me.  You can’t.”

“So, what?  We’re all a little poison.”

“Not like this.”

“Listen, there’s something you gotta understand. I don’t get to keep people, _______. That’s my thing.  They don’t stay around, or, I don’t stay around, or, I lose them, or, they die.  And I didn’t want this, us, to be just another thing I couldn’t keep. I thought I could avoid losing you by never really having you. So, I tried to stop it before it started. Before either of us got hurt. Which was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Because I still lost you.  And we still got hurt. I still want to keep you, ______.  I want to keep you so bad."

You wanted to melt. It would be so easy to let go.  To go to him. To let what was right in front of you happen.  But then you remembered what you did.  How he hurt you.  How you hurt him. And you couldn’t. You couldn’t let the poison in you ruin the man before you. Even if he sometimes acted like a jerk, he didn’t deserve that.

“I’m sorry, Dean. You’ll see in time: this is what’s best for you.” you hitched your duffel onto your shoulder and went for the door.  You didn’t make it far.

Dean grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him, so he towered over you. His hand came to rest on your cheek. Dean did that thing  that was pure fire, where he clenched his jaw, as he stared intently into your eyes.

“I don’t care what’s best for me.  Never have; never will.”   

His eyes flicked quickly from yours to your lips in a blink-and-you-miss-it nanosecond. His tongue crept out to wet his lips in anticipation. He brought his face even closer to yours.

“Dean…” you whispered in protest.

“I let you go before; I’m not letting you go again.”

He brought his lips to yours in a needy kiss.  His eyes shut tight. Eyebrows knit together, his face carrying 5 tons of emotional weight.

The duffel bag dropped from your shoulder with a soft WHUMP.

“Please. Stay.” Dean whispers against your lips, his forehead leaning against yours “Please.”

You nodded slightly, looking down, a tear slipping down your cheek.  Dean, cupped your cheek with one hand and wiped the errant drop away with his thumb.  He tilted your head head back up towards his, your lips meeting once more.  You kissed him, deep and slow, your hands tangling with the short hairs on the back of his head. He kissed you, desperation in every move of his lips and tongue.  As if the two of you kissing could be the cure, the answer to everything. He kissed you like it was the last time.  Which was ridiculous, because this was just the beginning, of course it was. It had to be.

His hands slipped down your back to cup your ass, where with a tiny hop from you, he was able to hitch up your legs around his waist so he was now carrying you. His lips slipped down to where your neck met your shoulder, worshiping the area with open mouth kisses.  

He laid you gently down on your bed and pulled away only to remove his shirt. He hovered over you.  

Your eyes went to his chest, tracing the healing cuts you’d made across his chest. Especially the one that broke through his anti-possession mark.  That’s the one that broke your heart the most.

He caught you staring and easily surmised the torrent in your head.

"Hey, look at me."  He hooked your chin up toward his face.  "Look at me. I am going to heal. It is going to be alright."

You looked away. Doubtful.  

"It is. " he reassured you.

There was something about the way Dean said somethings sometimes that made you want to believe.  Even though you knew he was probably wrong.  Even though to move forward taking what he said as fact would be a massive display of denial.  You wanted to believe it. Even if you didn't really. Maybe if you pretended for a while.  If you agreed that it was the truth, it would be.  It would be alright.  It was a dangerous show of fake-it-til-you-make-it.    

A questioning look on his face.  Of all the ludicrous things, he was asking if you’re ok. You nodded for him to go ahead, then pulled him in for a blazing kiss. He gently took hold of your hand resting on his cheek and kissed the inside of your wrist and down your arm, til he met the fabric of your pushed up flannel sleeve.

His eyes met yours and one of his rough, calloused hands traced your collarbone down to the first button on your shirt.   With a smirk he popped it open, his mouth following to explore the newly exposed square inch of skin.  He undid your shirt in this manner.  Button, by button. Kiss by kiss.  Dean’s lips on your body.  

You weren’t sure you deserved this from him.  He wasn’t sure he deserved you at all.  Maybe somehow in your mutual doubt you met in the middle and actually deserved each other.  Deserved what was happening.   

Dean reached the waistband of your jeans, his hands dragging down your torso to meet his mouth at your hips.  His thumbs traced circles on the skin there. You divested yourself of your flannel, leaving you in your bra. He looked back up at you, biting his lip, his pupils blown wide, his hot breath ghosting across your stomach.

He leaned back up so he was kneeling and quickly popped open the front of your jeans, tugging the pants down your legs and tossing them across the room.  He paused. His eyes lit up with joy.

“Those are Batman panties.”

“Yeahhh….I wasn’t planning on any of this today.”

“I love Batman.” he smiled.

He pushed your legs apart, spreading you out before him. He kissed a trail back up your leg, to your core.  He lavished extra attention on your inner thigh.

“Right here.” he said, slow and low and measured. Goodness, what that voice, alone, could do to you. “Right here”  his rough thumb caressed the highest spot on your inner thigh.  “I could live right here between your legs for the rest of my life.”  

“I’ll look into setting up a timeshare for you.” you said with a smirk. It’s amazing how you were still capable of humor at this moment.  

He slid both his hands under your underwear from the bottom, rubbing circles on your skin, and looked up at you.  

“Ready?”

“God, yes.” you affirmed.

“Attagirl.”

Dean hooked his fingers into your panties, slipped them down your legs and sailing off to who knows where.

“Bye Bye Batman” he said with a raised eyebrow.

Once again he kissed up to your core, but this time there was nothing to stop him from going all the way.  

He started gently, licking you up and down, testing the waters to see what you could handle. On the upstroke he hit your now swollen clit for the first time, sending a shudder through your body. You found yourself actually physically aching for him.  Obviously happy with the response he was getting from you, he continued to work on your clit. Sucking, nibbling, occasionally gently flicking with his tongue.  He slipped a finger up to your entrance and you gasped with the not unwelcome intrusion.  Your hands went to the back of Dean’s head with the surprise.

“Hey, easy.” he hummed against you “I got you, okay? Gonna get you nice and ready for me.”

He slipped a finger in and started pumping it.   _Ok, not so bad.  Not that different than an Ultra tampon, so far. Oh god, stop thinking about tampons.  What the fuck? You have the hottest human in existence between your legs.  Stop being weird._  

Dean slipped another finger in. And that felt different.  Weird different at first, but then just good different.  You started to find yourself at a loss for breath as his mouth worked your clit and his deft fingers worked inside you.

Dean added a third finger and really started to stretch you, crooking his fingers upward and hitting your g-spot for the first time.  Your hips rocked up as you let out a huge moan.  Dean’s left arm was immediately across your hips, holding you down, as he moaned into you.    Waves of pleasure started to mount in you. It would not be long now.

“Dean, I’m gonna c-

That’s when Dean simultaneously hit your g spot and pulled his mouth away from your clit and replaced it with a pressed down thumb.  That was all you needed.  You were off on waves of pleasure.  You saw stars.  You high-fived Freddy Mercury. You sought Counsel from a Flying Pumpkin Spice Latte.  The movie “Primer” made perfect sense to you.

From Dean’s point of view, you made the sexiest, most ungodly noises possible, your whole body tensing and releasing.

“Do you even know how fucking beautiful you are?” Dean said shaking his head.

“Shut your gorgeous face and get up here”  _who the fuck said that? Oh, it was me._ you thought.

“Oh, Yes, ma’am.”

Dean kissed up your body, his mouth coming to rest on the tops of your breasts which were just about falling out of your bra at this point.  He massaged your breasts, loving the valley in between

You brought your knees up on either side of him, gripping his sides and flipping him over so you were on top.

“Whoa, hey there tiger.” Dean teased.

You attacked Dean’s neck with kisses.  His hands rubbed small circles on your thighs.  You straightened up, making sure you had his undivided attention, then removed your bra.  The look of grateful awe on his face was enough to melt the coldest of hearts.  He just seemed so grateful to be there with you in that moment.

You leaned down to kiss him and reached over to your nightstand drawer at the same time.  You could almost reach it.  Dean noticed your attention wavering off to the side and leaned up to grab a condom from your drawer, for you, tossing it on the bed.

He reached down to unbutton his pants, but you stilled his hands.

“Let me” you said.

Dean put his hands up in surrender and leaned back.

You kissed around his navel and noticed Dean tilt his head up to watch you, his breathing pattern just starting to change.

You unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down to his knees, before returning to the top of his boxer briefs.  You lifted the waistband of his underwear carefully, slowly pulling them down and away from his rapidly hardening member.

You lightly ran a finger up Dean’s penis from base to tip,  just playing with him now, a smirk across your face.

“Oh, you’re such a fucking tease.”

“26 years Dean. I know how to drag things out.” you said before tracing the same path with the tip of your tongue, then popping the head of Dean’s cock in your mouth, sucking lightly.  You bobbed your head a little experimentally, but couldn’t take too much or it was gag city.  Dean didn’t seem to mind what you were giving him, though.  With your hands you did what that one article that appeared in every single issue of Cosmo had taught you.  You you lightly pumped the part of Dean’s penis (the Deanis?) that you couldn’t accommodate in your mouth.  His breath quickened. All of a sudden he was pulling you up toward him and flipping you over so he was on top of you.

“Sorry, had to stop you there or that’s all we’d be doing tonight.  And, darlin’, I’ve got one thing in mind, that I think you’ll agree, we have got to get to.” he panted into the side of your face.

He kicked his jeans and underwear off the rest of the way and quickly ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth, with an almost feral smile.

He quickly slipped it on, almost wincing with the movement.

He grabbed you by your thighs and quickly pulled you down the bed toward him.  You emitting a little “woop” of surprise, as his hips met yours.  He hovered over you, his hand going to your clit and started to rub once more.   He wiped the hair out of your face.  

His breath hot against you, he whispered in your ear “Ready?”  

You nodded.

“I need you to say it.”

“Dean, fuck me like there’s no tomorrow.”

“My pleasure.” he said, finally sliding into you.  You gasped.

“You okay? Did I hurt you?” he asked, concerned.

“I’m good.” you nodded.  And you were good.  It was slightly foreign, slightly uncomfortable to have another person inside you, but not nearly as painful as the zeitgeist would like you to believe.  Dean slid into you more, your body growing more used to him, more accommodating to him with each passing second. Your body wanting him there.

Clever boy that he was, Dean rubbed your clit, as he started to rock in and out of you.  His hot breath on your face, your hands feeling his toned arms.  

You felt your orgasm start to build as Dean sped up.

He quickly ripped you up from the bed, pulling you onto his lap, so his arms wrapped around you, his body flush against yours. He continued to thrust up into you as you rode him, your instincts taking over.  Telling you to chase that delicious friction. You rocked your hips in time with his, causing him to breathe a slew of amazing obscenities into your ear.

You kissed, fiery and passionate.  His hands slipped down your back and came to rest on your thighs squeezing them roughly, before moving onto your ass which he gripped tight, trying to take control of your movements as he was obviously approaching his end.

“You close?” he asked.

“Oh yeah.” you said.

He thrust up into you hard and fast, trying to get as deep as possible, sending you over the edge, moaning his name all the while.

He dipped you down onto your back once more. He spread your legs as wide as they could go and managed to get three more deep thrusts in before he followed you over the edge with the sexiest “oh fuuuck” you’d ever heard.  

He slowly pulled out of you, quickly dispatched with the used condom and collapsed onto the bed next to you.  He pulled you toward him so his head rested in the valley between your breasts, listening to the deep heavy thrumming of your post coital heart. His arms tightly wrapped around your torso.  Like he would never let you go.  You traced designs on his arms and stroked his hair gently.

“Thank you.” you whispered.

“Love you.” you thought you heard Dean murmur, while you both drifted off to sleep, completely at peace and utterly spent. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy, adequate enough Sex!
> 
> 1-ish chapters left to go, now!


	16. Chapter 16

     Dean’s eyes opened slowly, dreamily, the back of your head slowly coming into focus, as were his memories of last night. A slight smile appeared across his face as his memory returned. His eyes traced you up and down.

Sometime during the night, you had rolled to your side and Dean had resituated himself, so he was now spooning you. His arm still around your waist. Right hand lazily resting on your breast. His legs tangled in yours.

Dean woke you, his morning scruff punctuating his gentle kisses on your neck. You let out a sigh, turning your head toward him.  He ran a thumb down your chin.

 

“Mmmmm...you stayed.” you said, your voice still dripping with sleep.

“ _You_ stayed.” he said taking your lips in a passionate kiss.

“Ohhhh, morning breath.” you whined putting a hand over his mouth, which you quickly recoiled “Ew! You licked my hand!”

“I licked a lot more than your hand last night.” Dean argued one eyebrow raised as he licked his lips in either emphasis or habit.

“But...you licked my hand.” you countered.

“Don’t care.”  

Dean slipped out from you, letting your back his the mattress. He hovered over you, kissing you once more.  Ok, it was a little gross, with the morning breath, but you got over it, pretty quick.

     After 26 years.  26 long years. You were finally, no longer a virgin.  And not only that, but the gorgeous man who helped usher you into your now sexually active state was still there with you.  And he was gorgeous and flawed and gorgeous in his flaws. And had heart and was smart beyond what anyone expected. Sure, how you got there wasn’t ideal. Not by a longshot. But now that you were there, in Dean’s arms, he in yours - you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

     Dean sank into you slowly, running his entire length into you before pulling all the way out, again.  You two had all the time in the world. Your body was getting to know his. it felt right, like it was what was supposed to be. He thrusted faster and faster, both of you coming to your ends around the same time.

   Dean made this cute little scrunched up face when he finally came. You’d always guessed his O face would be something akin to when he takes that first delicious bite of a bacon burger, (eyes rolling back into his head, mouth agape in a zombie moan) but you were totally wrong. He looked pained when he came and always hissed out whatever expletive came to mind.  This time it was the evergreen “fuuuuuckkkkk”.  Now, that you knew what he looked like when he came you were determined to see if that face made an appearance anywhere else in his daily life.  Just out of curiosity.

He pulled out, disposed of the condom and laid on top of you, which only made it a little hard to breathe. He brushed the hair out of your face.

“So, how’d you like your first time?” he asked.

“Are we fishing for compliments, Mr. Winchester?” You gently ran your fingers through Dean’s short locks.

“I am not above flattery.”

You thought for a second. “Let’s just call it…life changing.”

“Hmm...life changing.  I can live with that.” he said rolling off you and pulling you into his side.

“And you have an awesome penis.” you added.

“Awesome penis!” Dean echoed throwing a fist up into the air with a shit eating grin.

 

 

* * *

 

     You spent the day in bed, dozing off and on, neither of you wanting to risk the disappearance of this new found thing.  Worried it was quicksilver. You stayed in bed until Sam came to look for you.  It was unusual for Dean to sleep more than 4 hours, let alone 12.  As far as Sam knew you were still holed up in your room, punishing yourself, and Dean was still recovering from when you went all Hostel on him.  He only even knocked on your door because he couldn’t find Dean anywhere else.

“Hey, ____. I know you haven’t been out, but I can’t find Dean and-” Sam explained through your closed door.

    You shot Dean your best Kevin McCallister mischief face, giving Dean a quick peck on the lips and bounced up out of bed. You grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and quickly pulled it onto your body, so as to not be completely naked.

“Oh” Sam startled at you opening the door...dressed only in a tshirt “Hey I didn’t expect you to ope...OH” He said noticing, over your shoulder, Dean in bed, obviously naked.

“Hiya, Sammy.” Dean waved.

A huge smile stretched across your face as you looked up at a shell shocked, but grinning Sam.

“So, I guess you guys are good now?” Sam surmised.

“Yeah, I’d say pretty good.” you nodded positively beaming.

“Yeah, well rise and shine. Got work to do.” Sam ordered.

You closed the door and turned back to Dean. “Guess, we gotta get back to saving the world and shit.”

“Guess I should put on pants, then.” Dean surmised.

“Let’s not go crazy.”

  

* * *

 

 

     The next week or so passed in a series of [moments.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7m4GtyjeYWM)

 

Dean brought you coffee while you went cross eyed staring at the tablet all day and night. He caught your lips in a sweet kiss as the mug hit a coaster.

 

You woke Dean by rolling into him, lightly and lazily caressing his face.

 

You stood over the stove; frying eggs splatting in a griddle pan. Dean's arms curved around your waist his head coming to rest on your shoulder, just hugging you from behind, while you cooked.  

 

You spoke animatedly about the tablet, explaining certain parts to Dean as he looked at you absolutely enraptured.

 

You and Dean arrived back at the bunker after a particularly messy hunt. You felt as if you’d be scraping vampire pieces out of….places...for the next two weeks.  Dean joined you in the shower, running a wet washcloth over your face, returning your skin to it’s original, non-crimson color.  Once you two had helped each other remove all the biohazard from your persons, you did a few things that necessitated a second shower.

 

You, Sam and Dean sat around the library, drinking, laughing your asses off about something or other, that you couldn’t quite recall even fifteen minutes later.  It was a “had to be there” type of thing, you guess.

 

You and Dean huddled under a blanket, catching up on Game of Thrones and sharing a bowl of popcorn.   Dean pulled your head down onto his shoulder and snaked his arm around you.

 

You slept wrapped up in each other, holding on for dear life, every night.

 

 

    Then Dean got a call.  

 

Some biker bar brawl that was actually an angel massacre.  He and Sam went off to investigate.  You stayed behind.     They returned a few days later.  Dean casually mentioned something about Cas working the case as a FED as well.   _Good for him. Acclimating to being human._ you thought.  Sam and Dean came home and you thought everything would still be good. Would be just as it was two days before.  

But it wasn’t.

 

You brought Dean coffee and he took it without giving you a second look.

 

Dean wandered into the library while you were slaving to find a way to return the angels to heaven.

“Jesus. Dean this part is nearly indecipherable. Almost like, when Metatron wrote it down, he wanted to keep the words hidden.” you mused aloud.

He distractedly shrugged you off saying “You’re a prophet. It’s a tablet. Translate.  Clock’s ticking, _____.”

 

You prepared cheeseburgers for dinner, without Dean interrupting to make out with you.  In fact he wasn’t even in the kitchen at all. Nobody came to dinner when you called.  You brought a cheeseburger to Dean in his room, but he just said he wasn’t hungry.

 

Even Sam started becoming more and more scarce.  Lord knows where he went.

 

You curled up under a blanket and watched Game of Thrones alone.

 

You stayed up all night working on the tablet, completely isolated in the library, only one light on, the rest shrouded in complete darkness.

 

You went to bed and reached out for Dean, to bring him closer to you, but the other side was completely empty.  

 

You were all alone.

 

* * *

 

     You were on your 15th straight hour of Angel tablet duty when Dean surprised you wandering in to ask “Hey, have you seen Sam?”  

Of course- it was about Sam. It wasn’t an explanation of what the hell was going on, why everything was different or even a basic “Hey, ____ How those feelings of abandonment going?”   He just wanted to know where Sam was.

“I vaguely remember the door slamming like an hour ago.   Must’ve gone out.  You notice he’s been doing that a lot?” you asked, not even looking up from your work.

“Pulling a Houdini?” Dean ventured.

“Yeah.  It’s weird, but you know, maybe he found a dog to pet, somewhere.” you said, a terse stab at humor.

 

     A tinny version of “Smoke on the Water” sounded out - Dean’s phone.  He fished it out of his pocket, looking at the caller ID. He quickly scurried away, without another word.

“Good talk” you said to no one.

 

Dean trunched back in moments later, a panicked look in his eyes.

“______, I need a spell and I need it ASAP.”

“Everybody always needs a spell and they always need it as soon as possible.” you said, distracted.

“It’s an emergency, ok. Just please.”

“What can I do you for?” you sighed.

“Let’s say there’s an angel in a vessel.  Is there a spell somewhere on that heavenly paperweight that will deactivate the angel, make it so they’re not listening in. So, we could clue the human in so that he, or she, could spit the angel out?”

“Probably, but what’s this about?  What’s going on?” you were starting to get worried.  

“Just...angel crap, okay?!”

“That seems awfully specific for regular angel crap.” you argued.

“You’re a damn prophet, just do your job!”

“Yep, I’m just a damn prophet.” you said shaking your head.

“_____, I didn’t mean….”

“No, it’s fine Dean.  I’m not dumb.  I haven’t been anything else to you for a while, now. I just wish I knew why?”

“________, just find the spell. Please. I don’t have time. _We_ don’t have time. You just need to do this.”

“Fine” you resigned.

 

Shortly thereafter, you and Dean walked into the Map Room. You wiped a mixture of paint and several other things you’d rather not mention from your hands with a rag.

“So, that little Banksy we set up in there, that’s gonna work, right?” Dean asked.

“It should briefly incapacitate the possessing angel, yeah.”

“Should?” Dean was more than a little alarmed, now..

“Listen, I whipped that up in about 5 minutes from a magical prehistoric chunk of rock that only I understand.  You wanted ASAP; I gave you ASAP.”

  

Dean looked at you, uncertain.

 

“It’s going to work, alright.  The question, though, is why you just had me set that up in our storage room? What the hell is going on, Dean?”

“I told you.” he said, trying to walk away. You blocked him from leaving.

“You told me theoretically.  This” you waved your paint covered hand “is not theoretical. Not by a longshot.”

“You're gonna have to trust me, okay, trust that I told you everything that I can for now. Can you do that?” Dean asked.

“Do you know how many times, you’ve asked me to trust you, Dean?” you countered.

“Maybe if you ever actually did, I wouldn’t have to ask you again and again.”

“If what little trust I gave you were ever rewarded, maybe I would.” you raised your voice.

“What the hell does that mean?!”

“Why did you stop caring about me?” you asked, voice small, pleading.

Dean was struck silent for a moment, almost shocked that that's what you thought.

“______, for what it’s worth..." you softened slightly at those words "just give me two hours, at the most...two.  Then this will all be over and I will tell you everything.  Okay?  I swear to fucking god, I will tell you everything.”  Dean looked as if the world was crashing down around him. 

“I don’t like this.” you said shaking your head, alarmed and royally pissed off.

“That makes two of us.” Dean said.

 

     Dean disappeared to somewhere in the bunker.

 

About twenty minutes later, you were struggling to reach a book on a tall shelf, when Sam trudged in.

 

“Hey, Sam. Where were you? Hey!! Can you reach this book for me?”

He stalked toward you and if you weren’t upset and worried about Dean, as per usual, you might have noticed something a little off about the way Sam held himself.  He grabbed the book off the shelf and handed it to you.  “Hey do you know what’s going on with Dean? I’m worried.”

“Don’t worry about Dean, ______. Dean will be fine.” Sam said, in a way that didn't sound quite like Sam.

Sam got really close, raising a hand to your forehead.

“Whoa, Sam. Personal sp-” was all you got out.

 

White hot heat burned you from the inside out, immolating you completely, even going so far as to turn your eyeballs into nothing more than lumps of ash in your skull.  How rude? You needed those to see.

 

Dean rounded the corner into the library, just in time to see Sam...

no, Ezekiel….

NO, it was GADREEL

smite you, with a simple gesture of his hand. He experienced your burned out corpse crashing to the ground as if in slow motion. Everything that was you, gone in a senseless instant.

 

Dean screamed out your name, but you were beyond hearing, now.

 

Gadreel pinned Dean to a wall with a a gesture of his hand.  “Sorry, about ______, but ultimately, it’s for the best” he offered as the only means of consolation, before making his escape.

 

The door slammed shut.  Dean was released.  Left all alone.  Truly alone, to cry out your name and weep and set your body ablaze on a funeral pyre.

 

You were dead and it was his fault.  

 

He should’ve known.  

 

Dean Winchester doesn’t get to keep anything.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmm...whatcha sayyyy
> 
>  
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day! Sorry you're dead.
> 
>  
> 
> See you at the Epilogue!


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (psst...keep scrolling)

**_For What It's Worth..._ **

 

    Dean scratched idly at his right forearm, his shirtsleeve covering The Mark of Cain.  If a medical professional were to examine it, they might think it was some new form of ringworm or a really bad burn, festering from neglect.  But it was neither. It was a curse he had taken on himself in a misguided fit of self loathing and hero complex.  The Mark itched and tingled. Calling to him.  Setting him on edge.

It had been one year since Gadreel had smote you using Sam’s body under Metatron’s orders.

          Nowhere.  You were nowhere.  It didn’t make any sense.  With what they know?  Everyone was always somewhere.  Heaven. Hell. Purgatory. The Veil. They just had to look hard enough.   Dean just had to look hard enough. Matter can neither be created, nor destroyed.  It just transforms.  You'd taught him that. Things don’t get destroyed.  They just change.   But you. You were nowhere.

 

* * *

 

_That first morning._

_“Fraggle Rock?” Dean asked._

_“Yeah Fraggle Rock, you know? Kids show from the 90s.  Jim Henson puppets, but with a message.   'Dance your cares away worries for another day. let the music play down in Fraggle Rock.” you half sang, clapping at the appropriate places._

_“Could you sing that again?”_

_“Shut up. Anyways, there was this one episode I remember, where like the dog’s bowl gets taken by a fraggle (fraggles are like little wall monsters, but like cute) and he thinks it’s lost, but later it’s returned to him but now it’s like this weird crazy invention or something? I don’t really remember.”_

_“You are a fantastic storyteller.” Dean mocked._

_“Shut up-I’m amazing. The point is, Doc, that’s the dog’s owner.  He’s like the only human on the show. He says to Sprocket, that’s the dog, I just remembered, he says ‘things don’t disappear. they just change and change.’ or something.  Everything’s always somewhere. You just have to look hard enough.”_

* * *

      He'd been through every bit of lore over three times. He’d tried every locator spell. He'd even gone to a hoodoo priestess. ~~And all that came from that were some wicked flashbacks to watching "American Horror Story: Coven".  But still~~ Nothing.  And to make things worse, now he even had the damn Mark of Cain trying to turn him dark once more.

 "Dean, you have to take care of yourself. You have to fight this" Sam begged him "you can't spend all day obsessing about ______.  I miss her too. And you know that I, more than anyone else, have to carry her death with me.  Every time I close my eyes, I see her burned out in front of me, by _my_ hands. But you can't keep doing this to yourself, Dean.  It's not helping you fight this, it's just driving you further down the rabbit hole. "

"Her death was my fault."

"No, it wasn't.  She's dead because of Metatron."

"If I had just been honest with her the whole time."

"Then he would've found another way to kill her anyways, Dean."  Sam argued trying to console him.  They'd had some version of this same argument at least 15 times in the past year. It always seemed difficult for things between Sam and Dean to stay buried. "Dean you know what the Mark did to you before." Sam continued "Can do to you now.  If you keep letting your grief over ______ consume you...I swear to god, it's almost like you want to be a demon again."

"Shut your face."

"Dean she's gone."

Dean burst up from his chair in a rage, pinning Sam to the wall in one fluid motion. "She's not gone. We're just not looking hard enough!"

"Dean!" Sam reprimanded him hands up in surrender. He wasn't going to fight him. "Breathe."  Dean softened releasing Sam and backing away.  

"Sorry." Dean apologized wiping a hand down his face to mask the single tear that fell from his eye.  "I just...I need her back."

 

* * *

     Dean topped off the small hole in the middle of the gravel intersection and tossed the shovel to the side.  He hadn’t even bothered drawing a devil’s trap.   He took a swig from his flask and waited.  

A voice behind him.  “My, don’t we look distraught?”.

Dean reeled around to see Crowley, not even three feet away.

“You know you do have my number on speed dial.  Didn’t have to do this to get my attention, darling.  Unless" he said circling Dean "you were trying to get one of my lackeys? Oh, Dean. We’re not trying to do this again, are we?”

“Even trade, Crowley. My life for hers. You can even take me now, I don’t care.”

“Dean, do you think I would even actually want you in Hell, at this point?  Not to mention, that taking you down is useless if I don’t get Moose, too.  I take one of you and the other will always find a way to royally screw me over.”

Dean needed you to be alive. Giving up his soul was one thing. But he couldn’t do that to Sam.  He’d learned to avoid playing god with people’s lives whenever possible.

“No?" Crowley answered at Dean's hesitation "Not going to give me the collector’s set?  Just as well, don't know where she is to bring her back from anyway.”

“How do _you_ not know where she is?”

“Believe me, if I knew, I would have had her over for tea, by now...or torture depending on the day.”

"Because you two were so buddy-buddy."

"You should know by now, Dean, that I am surprisingly capable of affection for certain individuals.  _____ being one of them.  Against my better judgement you and your brother also carry that honor.  You can tell I like you, because your soul isn't currently experiencing the Marquis de Sade's wet dream."

Dean turns to go away, realizing what a waste of time this was.

 Crowley called after him "You know, our whole Summer Holiday together, you never once asked me about her." Dean stopped in his tracks, listening for a second "To bring her back.  Now, at first I thought it was just a part of the whole new 'Bigger, Badder, Demon!Dean' thing you had going on.  But then, I figured it out.  You were afraid of what you might do to her.  Hearing about what you almost did to Moose when he finally caught up to you, I can't blame you.  But that's why you never even asked about her.   Quite a chivalrous demon, if you don't mind my saying."

* * *

"Dean, once again, you know I would have called you if  I knew anything about where she was. I'm in the middle of trying to rebuild Heaven, and I'm _still_ looking for her, for you.  I even have Ash hacking our network. I actually offered him open access, but he said it helps to pretend he's not allowed.  We haven't found anything.  I'd say maybe she was stuck in the veil during Metatron's reign, but every soul from there was recovered once we took back control." Cas explained to Dean over the phone at 3am one night.  

The time thing didn't matter to Cas.  Angels didn't sleep. But for Dean, he knew this late night call, with Dean's few phrases coming out slurred, was not helping him any.

 "Then where is she?"

"I don't know, Dean." Cas sighed "But I'm still working on it."  

"I know. I know you are." Dean hung up. 

 You weren't in Heaven.  You weren't in Hell. You weren't channeling your energy through a fucking Keurig.  Where were you? 

 

* * *

     Dean clamored down the bunker stairs, taking them two at a time, hauling a brown grocery bag in one arm, carefully trying not to spill it's contents everywhere during his descent.  He sped to the kitchen where he set down the bag on the table.  He rooted around the cabinets gathering a metal bowl, a pestle and matches from a drawer.  He dumped out the contents of the bag - sage, benzoin, mandrake, alder, pennyroyal, valerian, tonka beans, a jar of somebody or something's blood - it looked like he bought out the local witch Wal Mart.  He set to, mixing the ingredients, crushing them in the bowl with the pestle.  

     He ran to your room, which was left exactly the way it was the day you had passed and grabbed one of your favorite tshirts from a drawer.  Arriving back in the kitchen, he took a knife and shredded off a section of the shirt and dropped it in his concoction.  He knew that if this spell actually worked and you came back, you'd be royally pissed at the destruction of your favorite, limited edition (you liked to remind him at every turn), tshirt.  But you being angry was a risk he was willing to take.  You being able to be angry would be a great improvement over the current situation, where you were not able to do anything at all.  He topped the spell off, by running a knife down his palm, dropping his own blood in the mixture - the spell demanded a sacrifice of sorts.  Of all the sacrifices Dean had encountered in his relatively brief, but terrible life, this was definitely the easiest.  He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and recited the latin verse:

 

> _"(Latin. Latin. my this is some good latin_
> 
> _that is supposed to resurrect your character_
> 
> _but to actually write it out_
> 
> _might make actual things occur_
> 
>   _so we're just gonna wait right here while Dean finishes his incantation_
> 
> _..._
> 
> _Look at him in that jacket_
> 
> _That new jacket fits him really well  
> _
> 
> _What a shana punim on that dude_
> 
> _Man, his lips look pretty._
> 
> _OH! he's wrapping up now._
> 
> _shh...quiet get back to your seats_
> 
> _so this is some latin latin latin spell nercomancy shit right here. Forever and ever. Amen.)"_
> 
>  

He punctuated the spell by dropping in a match.  The bowl erupted in a puff of green smoke and nasty smells.

 He waited for something to happen.  Any indication that the spell had worked.  That it had brought you back.

 Several moments passed.

 Nothing. 

 Absolutely fucking nothing. 

He picked up the piece of paper with the spell on it and repeated the phrase.  Maybe he'd said it wrong the first time.  But still nothing.   

Dean grew frustrated.  

It hadn't worked.

That was his last resort.  And it hadn't worked.  

 

In a rage, he threw his makeshift cauldron against the wall, sending the ingredients flying.  He stomped through the bunker, weaving a path of destruction.  No chair went un-upended.  No lamp got off easy.  Books were everywhere.  The card catalog- in shambles.  

He tried to flip the map table, but it was securely bolted to the ground.  After a few seconds of pushing, he crumpled to the ground in futility. He sat, weeping into his crossed arms, rocking back and forth as a means to console himself.

Some time later, after reordering the card catalog (Sam would've been so upset), he wandered the halls of the bunker, a bottle of whiskey in tow.  Happening upon your old room, he took a swig and entered, settling on the floor, his back against the footboard of your bed. 

* * *

  _That morning._

_That first damn morning._

_You grabbed Dean’s hand and threaded his fingers with yours. You laid in bed, your back to him.  “Would it be too forward to tell you I like you?”  you smiled tilting your head up to look at his face._

_“Too forward? No.  A little disappointing, maybe, because I kind of love you.”_

_“Really, Dean?” you said._

_“What?” he asked, slightly offended._

_“Come on, we both know the words ‘I love you” don’t belong in either of our mouths.  They just don’t seem right. I don’t mean the sentiment, I mean. The words:‘I love you’ they feel so” you searched for the right word, waving your hand in the air as if to physically grasp it “chintsy” you settled on. “and insubstantial.  ‘I love you’ is an easy out.  It’s a way to cover up all manner of sins.  And it just doesn’t...for me, it doesn’t give me that gut punch feeling the way it’s supposed to. It doesn’t feel like anything.”_

_“Well, for what it's worth... “ He tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, letting you finish the statement in your head._

_“For what it's worth” you echoed, tilting your head towards his with a smile._

* * *

  

Dean just had to look hard enough and he’d find you.  Somewhere he’d find you.  In this or the next.

But for now, you’d just have to be where he could always find you, in his memory.

 

He raised his bottle to the empty room.

“For what it’s worth”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Deus ex Machina**

 

 "Really?"

At the sound of another person's voice Dean's head snapped to the right.  

It was Gabriel.

Leaning against your desk all casual, like he'd always been there.  Dean did a double take.

Gabe continued not even allowing his presence to fully register with Dean.  "The schmaltzy Hallmark movie ending?  She'll always be in your memory crap?  And the manpain!  All the manpain.  Your life doesn't even begin to pass the Bechdel. Come on, Dean-o.  You can do better.”

 “Gabriel?! You’re supposed to be dead! You were obliterated by Lucifer, like five years ago.” Dean jumped to his feet.

 “Yeah, well, what can I tell ya, back by popular demand.  Already made my grand debut, but I just had to swing round to sort this shit out.” he gestured to Dean "Sad to hear my charge burnt up like a marshmallow on a spit, by the way.  I can only imagine how terrible the smell was."

 "Your charge?" realization washed over Dean. "Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.  YOU were _______’s archangel?"

“Yeahhhh…” Gabriel said, reddening, embarrassed and ashamed.  He walked out to the hallway. Dean followed him.

"The fuck, man? Where the hell have you been all this time.   _You_ were supposed to protect her.."

"Listen. I'm sorry. The unreliable father figure thing kind of runs in my family.  And silly me, I thought you knuckleheads could KEEP ONE PERSON FROM GETTING KILLED." Gabriel took a breath letting his anger ebb from him "Why do you think I put her with you in the first place?" 

"You put her with us?"

"That Croatoan outbreak at E3? Where you met? You tried to blend in by wearing those adorable hipster glasses? I knew she was going to get called to be a prophet. Tried to preemptively put her in a safe position, because let's be honest, I'm not the bodyguard type.  She was already a hunter, so that made her crossing paths with you two jabronis an easy fix."  

Gabriel and Dean arrived in the main room of the bunker.  Gabriel surveyed the mess: "Temper tantrum, much?" 

Dean just rolled his eyes.  Less than five minutes of not being dead to Dean and Gabriel was already wearing on his last nerve. 

 "Seems you've been trying to get her back.  By the way that spell earlier. It's (latin pronounced correctly) not (latin pronounced incorrectly).  And also, totally would've just turned her into a zombie. Not even talking about the civil ones you're used to. Full on 28 days later." 

"Fantastic." Dean deadpanned, paling slightly at what he'd almost done. 

"Lucky for you, loverboy, I come bearing gifts, well _gift,_ really. Sort of an angelic reset button,  if you will."

"Wait do you know how to bring her back? Can you even do that? How do you even do that?"

"Uh hello! Archangel!" Gabriel gestured to his fabulous self.  "Don't question it."

"It's been over a year! Why now?"

"I believe I said don't question it?" Dean just stared at Gabriel.  He wasn't going to let this go. "Fine, ok. First, I had to come out of hiding.  Took a while to get my bearings. Do the reunion tour.  Hook up with some old friends. Had some other shit to sort out, sorry you're not the center of my universe. Second, really hate the 'women in refrigerators' trope.  It's so overdone.  Like women just exist to die and serve as motivation for a man. Fuck that shit.  Third, with that fancy tattoo you've still got there" Gabe gestured to Dean's arm "seems like you need all the happy you can get."

"So, without further ado." Gabriel went to snap his fingers. Dean interrupted.

"Wait. What's the catch?" Dean asked suspicions rising.

"There's no catch. We both fucked up on this one." Gabriel explained. Then re-distancing himself from his moment of honesty, Gabriel raised his hand to snap his fingers once more.

"Think happy thoughts, Dean-o." Gabriel waggled an eyebrow and snapped his fingers, disappearing from the bunker as if he was never there.

Dean rushed down the hall to your doorway.  Your door now closed.  He took a deep breath, steeled himself for the worst and turned the doorknob. A smile stretched its way across his face.

"Hey."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all the readers who supported this story and stuck with it, even when things got a bit uncertain. You kept me going with your kind words and encouragement and made me want to make this as good as I possibly could and kept me on a semi regular update instead of letting it fallow. You kept me from getting lazy. I couldn't have done this without your support. 
> 
> See you next time.


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